A Little Romance
by EmmyPeters
Summary: COMPLETED - My own version of an Anne and Gilbert romance, beginning with a rejected proposal.
1. The Proposal

"Please Gil, can't we just be friends?" the words were hopeful but they tore at Gilbert Blythe's heart just the same as he stood on the edge of the path, next to Anne Shirley. The sun was beginning to set but the air was still warm and a gentle breeze wafted around the couple as they conversed, a question asked and unhappily answered.

Just friends. How cruel those seemingly innocuous words could be. So Anne Shirley wanted to be just friends. Gilbert smiled weakly. "Just friends, Anne? I thought we were kindred spirits," he reminded her.

Anne Shirley had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Gil, you know what I mean," she tried to explain.

"No Anne, I don't think I do. Explain it to me." Yes, thought Gilbert, explain to me why you've turned me down. Turned me down and ripped out my heart.

"Gil, I'm happy as I am. I won't ever marry," Anne proclaimed feverently, wanting him to understand that it wasn't him she was rejecting. She just didn't want to marry, was certain that she would never marry. Indeed, it was difficult to doubt her sincerity when she looked at him the way she was, Gilbert thought. Her face, turned upwards to his, was filled with despair and her big grey eyes bore imploringly into his. She stood with hands clasped anxiously before her as she willed him to understand her words, her refusal.

But Anne Shirley hardly understood it herself. Gilbert Blythe was her chum, her best friend in fact, next to Diana Barry. That he wanted to marry her, had proposed to her this very evening, had brought her untold anxiety and not the joy anyone else might rightly expect such a proposal to bring. Anne could hardly explain her feelings to herself. How was she to make him understand? Oh, she supposed if she ever _were_ to marry then certainly Gilbert would be the finest prospect for there was no boy she liked better. No other boy whose company and conversation she enjoyed as much. But for reasons she couldn't quite comprehend it was that 'boy' part that troubled her. For truly it ought be said that Gilbert Blythe was no longer a boy, but a man. At twenty-one he was three years her senior, a tall handsome man, wide of shoulder, a dedicated medical student on his way to becoming a doctor. There was little in the way of 'boy' about him anymore.

"Please Gil," Anne pleaded again. "Can't we go on just as we are?"

Gilbert Blythe was silent a moment. You know, it wasn't every day a man proposed, he thought. It wasn't every day a man was rejected either. He didn't know what hurt worse. Being refused, or seeing the obvious anguish his proposal had unleashed on the very person he cared so much about.

"All right, Anne," Gilbert answered slowly. "Just as we are."

Anne visibly slumped in relief. "Then....then, you're not angry with me?" she asked hesitantly, and perhaps a little warily. Really, she supposed there was no one more entitled to a bit of anger than a spurned suitor, Anne thought. Spurned suitors were always reacting rather badly in books, weren't they? And presumably those authors knew more about the matter than she, after all considering this was her first experience with such a thing. Her eyes widening as numerous scenarios began to play out in her active imagination, Anne unconsciously eyed the path beside them, as if planning an escape should it be required.

Gilbert's mouth twitched in spite of himself. He'd always been able to read Anne's expressions well, and even in the midst of such a horrid evening as this, he found a small measure of amusement in observing the workings of her mind. "I will say I'm disappointed Anne, but rest assured I'm not angry," he replied, raising a brow in slight mocking askance....what had she expected him to do? Pitch her into the lake for refusing him?

"Ah...er...I'm glad of that Gilbert," Anne replied a tad sheepishly, her wild imaginations put temporarily on hold. "And you'll still come by to see me? We can still chum around?"

Gilbert paused. There was that hopeful tone of hers again. His undoing. She'd refused him his marriage proposal and yet he knew in his heart he could refuse her nothing. "Yes, Anne, if you still want me to," he replied quietly.

"Of course I do Gil!" Anne exclaimed happily and smiled up at him, fairly glowing with pleasure that it seemed their friendship would survive the proposal after all. Unable to resist the radiance of her smile, Gil smiled back. She'd broken his heart tonight. Ripped it out, stomped on it and kicked it into the dirt and yet she'd made him smile. The slight breeze worked a strand of hair loose from the side of Anne's head and Gil fought the sudden urge to reach out and tuck the wayward tendril behind her ear.

For her part, Anne reckoned she endured the depths of despair and an accompanying joyous relief tonight, all within the span of a few moments. She'd refused Gilbert but he would still be her friend. She wouldn't lose him altogether then. He could just as easily have stormed off, never to bother with such a troublesome girl as she again.

For his part, Gilbert reckoned the woman he loved deeply with all his heart, had always loved for as long as he could remember, did not love him back. Not in the same way at least. She wanted a friend and nothing more. He would have to be content with that for the alternative--never to see her again, never to speak to her again--would be far more devastating.

In truth, neither of the pair standing on the edge of the path amid a sweet evening breeze and an encroaching dusk understood what had transpired this night. A man thought he had proposed to the woman he loved and had been rejected. But it was a girl, not a woman, who had refused him. It wasthe girl, overcome by the prospect put before her and for reasons she had yet to decipher herself, who had refused to marry Gilbert Blythe.


	2. Dreams and Wishes

Chapter 2 - Dreams and Wishes

"Oh Diana, I hate to see the summer end!" Anne Shirley exclaimed wistfully to Diana Barry, as the two young women strolled arm-in-arm across the footbridge.

"Summer end!" Diana jolted in surprise, slowing her steps and turning to her friend. "Why Anne, it's only June! The summer has hardly begun yet!"

"Yes, I know," Anne acknowledged on a sigh, as she braced her arms on the bridge railing and looked out dreamily over the placid pond waters. "But oh, what a bitter blow it is just knowing all this etheral beauty shall dissolve and leave a gloominess to smother the happiness of our carefree days. It is a trial to my wounded spirit," Anne recited in a dramatically mournful way, and if truth be told, not without a degree of pleasure.

"Anne, you really are a peculiar girl," Diana observed tolerantly with a smile. But then she was used to Anne's sometimes strange ways of acting and talking. "Of course I'd be sad too if it really were the fall and my beau was leaving Avonlea to go back to his studies," Diana observed slyly. "I'm so lucky that's not the case with Fred."

"Diana Barry! Gilbert Blythe is not my beau!" Anne came out of her mournful rapture to protest hotly, a crimson colour sufusing her face at the reference to Gilbert and his medical studies at Dalhousie.

"But Anne, I never even mentioned Gilbert's name," Diana protested with false innocence and a teasing smile.

Anne rolled her eyes at her friend's trickery. She was so used to everyone assuming Gilbert was her beau that maybe she had been a mite quick to disavow even such a remote hint as Diana had made.

"Although....," Diana drew the word out in slow thoughtfulness. "Now that you mention it, won't you be sorry to see Gilbert leave in the fall?" she asked carefully.

"Certainly not," Anne replied haughtily, raising her chin just a little at the mere suggestion. Stopping to think on it a moment, Anne's expression softened. "Well, no more than I would be sorry to see any friend leave. But Diana, it's not what everyone thinks. Gil and I are just good friends. You have no idea how tiresome it is to have everyone keep thinking he is my beau," Anne said, with sincere mournfulness this time. Was it just two weeks ago he had proposed? Anne mused. Thank goodness he had come to his senses and they had gone on being friends just the same after her refusal. They'd gone to Charlie Sloane's bonfire and the church picnic, along with Diana and Fred and all their other friends, and there had been no untoward awkwardness. No real harm had been done then by Gil's proposal. Anne didn't reflect on the fact that if nothing had changed so very much since Gil's proposal why she hadn't told Diana about it. Maybe she couldn't bear more discussion on the topic, maybe it was something more. Questions she feared would be asked that she couldn't answer. But she didn't want to think on it. No, it was quite simple really, Anne decided, and just as it should be. Gil and she would chum around for the summer and he would go off to medical school in the fall, and she would return to her post at the Avonlea school. She would be sorry to see him go, just as she would be sorry to see any friend leave, she told herself firmly.

"Oh Diana, look!" Anne exclaimed suddenly as her attention was captured by a bright patch of colour in the distance. "The flowers are in bloom on the Island of Dreams and Wishes!" she declared in delight, recounting their girlhood name for a small patch of terrain surrounded on all sides by shallow murky water. In truth, Dreams and Wishes was a fitting name since the delightful array of colourful blooms could only be viewed from a distance--it certainly _was_ a dream and a wish to ever collect them since the water surrounding the small patch of land was too shallow to row upon and too muddy to wade through. Grasping Diana's hand, Anne enthusiastically ran the rest of the way across the footbridge towards the small spot in the distance, pulling her friend along behind her.

"Oh isn't it just breathtaking!" Anne sighed rapturously, stopping at the edge of the murky water to survey the sight.

"Yes, lovely," Diana agreed. "It's too bad we can't pick them. I'm sure they'd smell divine," she sighed with disappointment. Surely there were no finer blooms in all of Avonlea than the ones on the small island undisturbed and protected by their very inaccessibility.

Suddenly Anne's eyes lit up. Bending down she quickly grabbed the hem of her skirt and straightened, tucking the edge tightly into her waistband and baring her stockinged legs.

"Anne Shirley! What are you doing?!" Diana shrieked in shock as Anne crouched and began to remove her shoes.

Anne turned her face up from her task and grinned in delight. "Getting some of those flowers!" she announced with determination, popping her second shoe off her foot. All these years those wonderful blooms had teased them from a distance. Not any longer. Today they would be hers. Standing, she turned and began to wade into the murky, muddy water.

"Oh Anne, are you sure this is a good idea?" Diana called worriedly but it was too late. Anne was already making her way slowly across to the island. "Well, be careful!" Diana shouted.

"Diana, don't worry, I know what I'm doing!" Anne shouted over her shoulder confidently as she took the next slow sloggy step, leaning forward slightly to keep her balance. It really was a rather unusual sensation, she confessed to herself, each step bringing her into progressively thicker mud. The mud oozed between her stockinged toes as she pressed her weight down from side to side, a slight sucking sound as she pulled each foot out from its muddy tomb.

Anne hadn't gone more that about ten steps when she decided her impulsive idea maybe wasn't such a good idea after all. The little island with the colourful blooms was still a long ways off yet, at least thirty yards, and each step into the vile mud was becoming more unpleasant than the last. Covered in mud way past her knees, she was just about to call back to Diana her decision to return when her right foot sank further down into the mud than any of the previous steps. Why it was almost as if the mud had reached up and _pulled_ her foot downwards, Anne thought, her mind suddenly filled with visions of ghouls and goblins and other subterrainian creatures that might inhabit the murky waters of a little-known Avonlea pond. Deciding quite precipitously to abandon her plan, Anne turned, only to find her foot not co-operating with her mind. For she couldn't lift her foot out of the mud, it was too firmly entrenched. It, and she, was stuck.

"Anne, what's the matter?" Diana called worriedly when Anne came to a standstill.

"Diana, I'm stuck," Anne replied.

"Stuck?" Diana asked uncomprehendingly, as if she couldn't figure out what that particular word was doing in the middle of Anne's fine excursion.

"Yes, s - t - u ....," Anne began to spell, before stopping and sighing. If she just had something to pull on, something to pull herself out with. But here in the middle of the mud there WAS nothing, she thought, looking about helplessly.

"Anne, I'm coming in to help you," Diana announced, beginning to draw her own skirts upwards out of the way.

"Diana, don't!" Anne cautioned, forestalling her friend's generous offer of assistance, generous since she knew that if she herself found the mud distasteful Diana would find it doubly so. "There's no sense both of us getting stuck with no one around to help. You must go.....," Anne stopped at the sound of a wagon and horse approaching.

"Oh look it's Gilbert Blythe!" Diana exclaimed in happy relief as Anne groaned aloud. Not Gilbert! Why, oh why, oh why.....

"Diana....and Anne!" Gilbert said in surprise as he drew nearer and whoaed the horse to a standstill. "Whatever are you doing?" he asked, surveying the scene before him.

"Anne is stuck in the mud, Gilbert," Diana was quick to explain the obvious while Anne remained silent, her head tilted upwards in defeated resignation and mortification as she avoided Gilbert's eyes. Why, oh why, oh why....

"Hmm," was Gilbert's non-committal response, as he quickly got down from the wagon and looked about him, spotting a downed tree branch. He picked it up and carried it to the edge of the muddy water, wading in a few feet before extending the branch out towards Anne. "Okay Anne, try to grab the branch and pull yourself out," he instructed, digging the heels of his workboots into the less gooey mud of the shoreline.

Unable to help it, Anne turned to look longingly at the blooms across the way, blooms that must now forever remain out of reach, before turning to do as Gilbert instructed. The tree branch provided adequate anchorage as she carefully pulled herself from the muddy water and inched her way along its length back towards Gilbert. When she was within arms length of him, Gilbert suddenly reached out to hook one of his arms around her waist as he swung her back up to the safety of the shore. Dropping the branch into the muddy water, he joined Anne and Diana on dry land and kept his eyes averted upward in gentlemanly respectfulness as if overcome by a sudden interest in analyzing the clouds. Both Anne and Diana eyed him quizzically for a moment at his strange demeanour, before Diana suddenly nudged Anne sharply in her side and pointed to her dress, the hem of which was still tucked into her waistband and exposing her stockinged legs. Quickly, Anne righted the material, clearing her throat to announce herself once again properly, if muddily, attired. Gilbert lowered his head and met Anne's eyes.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Blythe," Anne rushed to say in exaggerated formality, hoping to forestall any questions he might pose about her strange situation. Really what _could_ she say? I was trying to get to the island to pick some _flowers?_ It sounded ridiculous in her own mind. And for some reason, at that particular moment, that last thing she wanted was for Gilbert Blythe to think her ridiculous.

"You're quite welcome, Miss Shirley," Gilbert replied, equally formal although with a hint of amusement in his hazel eyes. "I've had a lot of experience with cows getting stuck in the mud so it was fortunate I happened by to assist you."

"C-cows?" Anne choked on the word. He dared to compare her situation to ?!? Anne's grey eyes darkened ominously.

His mouth twitching with a supressed smile, Gilbert asked, "Can I offer you ladies a ride home?"

"Why yes, that would be...." Diana started before Anne pulled on her arm.

"No thank you, we prefer to walk," Anne announced, turning to leave. Gilbert stepped into her path, stalling her.

"Anne," he began, his voice suddenly serious, all traces of teasing momentarily curtailed. "Anne, promise me you won't do that again," he said, his voice low and intimate.

"Do what?" Anne raised her eyes to his.

"That," Gilbert replied, waving his hand back towards the muddy water, as Anne blushed in embarrassment over the reminder of her folly. "You could have gotten yourself in serious trouble, Anne," he said, concern in his voice.

"I'm quite aware how foolish I was, Gilbert," Anne confessed to the second button on his shirt, for some reason unable to meet his eyes. "You needn't worry I'll repeat myself."

"Good," Gilbert said approvingly, his tone once again light and teasing, the sudden seriousness and concern now masked. "You know, I might not be around the _next_ time you need rescuing," he teased, a slight reference to another past occasion when he had pulled her from a watery predicament.

Anne grumbled a low "hmm" as she turned away and headed off.

"Don't forget your shoes!" Gilbert called after her as Anne groaned aloud, turning back to hastily snatch the footware from the ground without so much as a glance in Gilbert's direction.

Diana offered up an apologetic shrug. "Goodbye Gilbert," she said, following on Anne's heels.

Not moving from his spot, Gilbert Blythe watched the pair until they fairly receded in the distance. Turning back, he looked across the muddy water, eyeing the colourful blooms across the way with a thoughtful expression.

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"ANNE!" Diana Barry called loudly as she pounded on the front door of Green Gables the next morning. She'd only come by for a quick visit with Anne before she headed on into town and had been greeted by an unexpected scene on the Cuthbert porch. "Anne, come see!" she yelled through the screen door.

"Diana Barry, whatever is the...." Anne Shirley called back as she raced to meet her friend at the door, stopping when she swung the door open and saw what Diana was pointing to so excitedly.

There, sitting on the front verandah floor, were three buckets full of the most colourful June blooms either of them had ever seen. "What......?" Anne breathed in astonishment, while Diana stood grinning in excitement. There was only one place on all of Avonlea that such blooms existed, only this was maybe the first time anyone had ever seen them up close before.

"There's a note!" Diana pointed out gleefully. Anne reached into one of the buckets and retrieved the slip of paper. She unfolded it and read the words to herself....

_Dear Anne,_

_I know you are a woman of your word and that you'll honour your _

_promise NOT to wade through dangerous waters in the future. Please accept these flowers not only in lieu of what you were forced to forgo yesterday but also as an insurance that such an undertaking needn't be attempted at your peril._

_Sincerely,_

_Gilbert Blythe_

"Well?" Diana prompted nosily after a moment.

"They're from Gilbert," Anne informed her, looking up in astonishment.

"Oh Anne! How romantic!" Diana enthused.

Anne shook herself out of her astonishment. "It's nothing of the kind. He just.....he just wanted to make sure I didn't try to cross the muddy water again," she countered in confusion, the explanation falling flat on her own ears. How did Gilbert even know she was even trying to get to the flowers? Quickly she looked up at her friend. "Diana, you didn't....?" she asked, suddenly suspicious. "Diana, you didn't tell him, did you?" she accused.

"Anne, of course I didn't!" Diana said reproachfully. "When would I have?" she demanded to know. Both she and Anne had last seen Gilbert yesterday and there had not been an occasion to tell him then what Anne was up to.

Anne puzzled on it. Was it possible Gilbert deduced on his own what she'd been after when she'd gotten herself stuck in the mud? Was it possible he knew her so well then?

"Oh Anne, he must have crossed over several times to get you so many blooms, don't you think?" Diana mused appreciatively.

"I don't know, maybe," Anne replied hesitantly, not sure just _what_ to think.

"Anne, I have to go. I told Mother I'd was just stopping by for a minute. She's waiting for me at the crossroad," Diana announced apologetically.

Rousing herself, Anne bid her friend goodbye and watched her hurry down the front lane. When she was at last out of sight, Anne bent low and pulled a red bloom from the nearest bucket, lifting the delicate blossom to inhale its sweet perfume as she reflected on this most curious and confusing of events.

Gilbert Blythe had crossed muddy waters to pluck three bucketsful of blooms from the Island of Dreams and Wishes for her.

Dreams and Wishes indeed.


	3. The Storm

Chapter 3 - The Storm

"Quick inside, everybody!" Ruby Gillis called to her guests as dark ominous clouds rolled overhead, obscuring the sunshine that had graced her garden party only moments before. "It's going to rain!" Ruby called out, trying to usher her guests inside before the calamitous event.

Anne Shirley looked up at the sudden pronouncement, croquet mallet poised in hand. She'd been concentrating hard on her next stroke, not wanting Gilbert to beat her even at something as innocent as a game of croquet, and had not noticed the darkening sky, now accompanied by a low rumble of distant thunder.

"Well Anne, it looks like we'll have to end this game with me in the lead," Gilbert gloated with a smirk as he stood leaning on his croquet mallet propped beneath him, one foot crossed over the other and his opposite hand resting nonchalantly on his hip. Their game was interrupted but he was pleased nonetheless at this modest victory over his old school days rival. If he were truthful he supposed he would have to admit that he enjoyed the challenges Anne Shirley seemed always to present him with. First it was their competitiveness to best each other in school with grades and marks...now that their school days were past the rivalry had toned down considerably and had developed into a more friendly, yet still fierce, rivalry in things like croquet and chess. Oh Anne Shirley wasn't one who liked to lose, Gilbert mused with a smile. She wasn't like the other girls who, he had discovered, pretended to lose to the boys on purpose so they could ohh-and-ahh over their manly achievement while batting innocent eyelashes at them, perhaps hoping to snag a greater prize than simply a game of croquet. But Anne Shirley was different. She wanted to win and made no bones about it, too honest and forthright in her manner to adopt the feminine wiles of her contemporaries.

But even without feminine wiles, Anne Shirley was certainly not lacking in feminine appeal, Gilbert thought suddenly, his expression darkening at the direction of his own thoughts. Take now for example. All fresh and cool in her frilly garden party gown, like an dew-filled dawn, the croquet mallet stilled between lacy-gloved hands as she stood interrupted, poised to make the next shot. Her trim figure was graceful and elegant, the delicate curves of her arms and neck exposed at the perifery of frills and lace.

"I guess we'd better go in, Anne," Gilbert prompted a tad gruffly, angry at himself as he tried to still his suddenly distracting line of thought. Thinking about Anne Shirley's womanly appeal was certainly NOT something he needed, or wanted, to think about. In fact he'd been trying his utmost over the past several weeks to think of anything BUT that appeal. Working on his father's farm for the summer had helped. The hard physical labour of his days had helped to keep his mind off the slip of a girl with fiery red hair who seemed completely oblivious to just how stunningly beautiful she was. "Are you coming?" he asked when Anne made no response, either verbal or physical, to his suggestion.

For her part, Anne Shirley had been caught unprepared for the sudden climatic change. She'd been so engrossed in her game with Gilbert that it had actually been one of the few times she'd paid no heed to the weather, not a usual occurence with her. The sudden pronouncement had startled her, had momentarily frozen her to the spot, even as watery pellets began to rain down on them amid the squeals of the other garden party guests bolting towards the house in a mad scramble for shelter.

"Anne?" Gilbert prompted questionly, puzzled now by Anne's immobility. It had begun to rain in earnest now but he didn't immediately follow the others into the house for the simple reason that Anne herself hadn't. "Anne, is something wrong?" he asked and took a step towards her, just as a loud clap of thunder sounded.

Visibly jolting at the noise, Anne suddenly broke from her mesmeric reverie, lifting her face as Gilbert gasped at the expression he read there and took another step in her direction. Suddenly Anne dropped her mallet and turned, bunching her skirts in her fisted hands as she sped her way towards the house. Gilbert followed close behind. Inside the cosy Gillis home the party-goers were laughing and joking amicably, rueing the sudden inclement weather that had partially ruined their outdoor merriment.

"Anne! Gilbert! Look at you two!" Ruby cheerfully teased, handing them both small towels as they stood just inside the parlour doors, Gilbert just slightly behind Anne, the room overflowing with people and most of the room's available seats already occupied. "It looks like you weren't quite fast enough to beat the rain. Dry yourselves off while I get the tea," she instructed, leaving the pair as she hurried towards the kitchen, an obliging and thoughtful hostess.

"Anne, are you alright?" Gilbert whispered, leaning close over Anne's shoulder. He hadn't liked the expression he'd seen on her face outside. For some reason it had raised a streak of alarm inside him.

"Of course I'm alright," Anne replied in forced calmness, feeling Gilbert's slight almost imperceptible breath on her ear as he whispered his question. Gilbert's warm breath, his low intimate whisper. She took a small step away from the whisper, the breath, and the man, and began to dab her face with the small towel. At Anne's obvious dismal, Gilbert retreated a step or two in the opposite direction, but kept his gaze on her. He watched her glance across the room to seek out and meet Diana Barry's eyes, while Diana returned her look with a sympathetic one.

"Why it's just like Noah's Ark!" Josie Pye was saying in theatrical merriment to the assembled room, her voice and face lit up in delight at her own cleverness. "All this rain....and all of us coming in two-by-two," she surmised suggestively, eliciting the desired result as titters circulated the room at her bold analogy. Words that weren't without a bit of truth, since most of the party guests HAD conveniently paired up male-to-female.

"Not quite Noah's Ark," Anne countered. "After all, that was 40 days and nights of rain, hardly something to compare to a light afternoon's downpour," she reasoned in practicality, disputing the farfetched analogy.

But Josie Pye was not pleased to have her limelight stolen, especially not by one Anne Shirley. "Oh please do spare us the lesson, Miss Shirley of Avonlea School. It's the summer you know and lessons are over," she rolled her eyes in mock forebearance.

Anne blushed at the public put-down. She hadn't meant to give a lesson, but Josie's reminder that she WAS a teacher only intensifed her embarrassment that maybe she had inadvertantly done so. She'd only spoken up because....well because....the chatter helped to distract her thoughts from those other things that were troubling her....the one that raged outside and the one who stood not far from her.

"Yes Anne Shirley, we can do without....," Josie Pye stopped her tirade suddenly midsentence, having met Gilbert's Blythe's gaze across the room. Visibly withering under its dark intensity, she realized her mistake too late. For such a look of anger, of repulsion, she had rarely encountered and its very intensity shook her to her core. Wisely deciding on an alternate topic of conversion, she turned to a nearby acquaintence. "Jane, did I tell you about the absolutely divine material I picked out for my dress for the White Sands ball?" as the room quickly returned to normalcy, the volume of social chatter rising to replace the awkward confrontation.

"Tea time!" Ruby Gillis happily announced, entering the room with a laden tea tray, pleasurably dispensing her duties as hostess as she affected quite a fine presentation of tea-pouring and offered the steaming cups to her roomful of guests. "Anne, will you take a cup?" she offered congenially as she made her way around the room to stand before Anne, cup in hand.

"Why yes, Ruby, thank you," Anne politely partook of her friend's hospitality, settling the cup and saucer in her hand, just as a loud boom of thunder overhead shook the house.

"Oh my, that was a big one," Ruby observed in nonchalant socialability. "Why Anne, are you cold?" she asked, suddenly noticing that the hands cupped about Anne's tea were shaking and the little tea cup trembled in its saucer. "You did get a mite wet out there, didn't you?" Ruby reasoned an explanation for her friend's sudden chill.

"Yes, I believe I am a little cold," Anne replied, happy for the excuse of coldness to hide the visible trembles that had nothing to do with her bodily temperature.

Turning to the assembled guests, Ruby called out in jovial comraderie, "Stack some wood on that fire boys! Let's get this room warmed up!" Turning back, she smiled at Anne and patted her arm. "Don't worry, we'll have you warm and toasty as quick as your eye," she said, adding a reassuring wink along with it.

Anne smiled her gratitude and watched as Ruby returned to the room's epicenter to continue her tea-dispensing duties. The small china cup continuing to tremble noisily in her hands, Anne turned and placed it on a nearby low table, looking up in time to meet Gilbert Blythe's eyes. He raised a brow at her, a silent question behind his gaze but Anne looked quickly away.

It was about half an hour when the storm was long over that the guests began to disperse, some of the men drying off the damp carriage seats of their buggies in anticipation of escorting their female companions home. Diana, Fred, Gilbert and Anne made their way on foot, their voices light with laughter as the women playfully traversed around puddle edges, raising the hem of their skirts slightly, carefully trying not to succumb to a potential watery stain. A puzzled expression remained on Gilbert's face as he watched Anne, who had now returned to her old mischievous self, all traces of her pecular demeanour of the past afternoon now lifted from her frame. Putting a hand to Diana's elbow, he held her back a moment as Fred and Anne gained a slight distance on them.

"Diana, what was the matter with Anne?" he asked when Fred and Anne were out of earshot. Meeting Diana's stare he elaborated, "Back at the house....during the storm. She wasn't herself. What was the matter?"

Diana looked blankly at Gilbert, surprised by his question, even more surprised by his astuteness. Not one to betray a confidence, she shrugged slightly.

Not satisfied, Gilbert persisted. "She seemed....she seemed almost....frightened," Gilbert said, almost suprising himself with the word. Why Anne Shirley was one of the most confident, outgoing people he knew, without a timid bone in her body. That he'd actually seen fear in her eyes was a strange revelation to him.

Diana eyed Gilbert silently a moment as she wrestled with herself. It wasn't really a broken confidence if he already mostly guessed it, was it? "Anne doesn't like thunderstorms," Diana told him.

"Anne doesn't like thunderstorms?" Gilbert repeated.

"No," Diana shook her head, then decided she'd said enough and turned to run catch up with the others, leaving Gilbert behind to stare thoughtfully ahead.

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Author's Note: Please leave me story reviews! I desperately crave your comments as my motivation to keep going.....you have no idea how an empty inbox thrusts me into the depths of despair! ;)


	4. A Moonlit Trek

Chapter 4 - A Moonlit Trek

"Moody, let me off at the corner," Gilbert Blythe leaned forward from his seat in the wagon to tap Moody Spurgeon on the shoulder with his request. The wagonload of partygoers was traversing along the dirt road, heading back from their evening's enjoyment at the White Sands hotel. It was dark already, quite late, and Gilbert Blythe had been eyeing a light in the distance worriedly, ignoring the light post-party chatter of his fellow passengers.

"Why do you want me to let you out here?" Moody asked, reining the team to a halt and turning in his seat to regard Gilbert with surprise. He was delivering his passengers home and had already dropped off Diana Barry and few others, but the Blythe homestead was quite a ways off yet. "We're not even near your place yet," Moody protested.

"I know," Gilbert acknowledged, already beginning to disembark. "There's a light on at the Miller place. I'd like to check in on them."

"Ohhhh," Moody droned knowingly. "Gilbert the Good checking in on the neighbours," he taunted mildly in derision as a few titters rose up from the other passengers at the obvious sarcasm in Moody's tone. If Moody Spurgeon chose to mock Gilbert Blythe on this occasion it was only because of a slight case of envy--envy for the respect Gilbert Blythe was earning in Avonlea for his repeated demonstrations of goodness and kindness.

Gilbert's expression turned a little dark. "Thank you for the ride Moody," he said out of obligatory propriety and nothing more, not about to let a bit of mild taunting hinder him from his mission. "Goodnight, everyone," he raised a hand in parting to the group, his farewell gesture barely visible in the low light of the evening's moonshine and the single carriage lantern with its weak flame.

Moody shook his head and turned back in his seat. Gilbert Blythe could just walk home then if he persisted in such a foolish notion as to pay a call on his neighbours at this hour of the night. He picked up the reins in preparation to flick them on the horses' backs.

"Wait!"

It was Anne Shirley, decrying the command from the other end of the wagon as passengers jerked in surprise, not the least of whom was Moody Spurgeon who had turned to fix Anne Shirley with an astonished glare. But Anne wasn't looking at Moody, she was eyeing Gilbert in the darkness. "I'll come with you," she announced to him and the others before quickly gathering up her skirts and turning out of the wagon before anyone had a chance to do or say anything. Disembarking on the far side, she stood on the opposite side of the wagon, she and Gilbert bookending the vehicular contraption.

"Suit yourselves!" Moody Spurgeon declared in frustration. They're both looney, he muttered lightly to himself, before rapping the reins on the horses' backs and urging them onwards so preciptously that the wagon jerked away. Only a few 'goodbye Anne' and 'goodbye Gilbert's floated back to the pair from the other travellers already receding in the distance.

The wagon now vacated from between them, Gilbert and Anne stood a roads-width apart, and regarded each other. The air was suddenly still and silent around them and it was darker now that the soft glow of light from the lantern had been carried away with the wagon's departure. It was Gilbert who broke the silence that had descended around them.

"Anne, you should have gone home with the others," he admonished, partly out of concern for her well-being and partly for his own. Hadn't tonight at the party been torture enough? Did she have to torture him more, he wondered darkly. He was only beginning to realize how difficult it was being the same room with someone you loved and always having to mask that love. He'd purposely avoided her at the ball tonight. Had avoided her as soon as he'd spotted her in her elegant evening gown, looking so breathtakingly lovely he'd wanted to....to....well, to do things he had no right to want to do. Even their one obligatory 'duty-dance' had been fraught with unease, for as soon as he took her into his arms he'd felt the strange yet familiar jolting sensation he often felt at such a connection with her. A sensation not unlike the little shocks he and some of his school-chums had discovered years ago when they'd wet their fingers lightly then touch the light switch at the newly electified White Sands hotel. Touching Anne Shirley was just like that. Or that was as near a description as he could give to the puzzling, confounding and disturbing sensation. Deep down inside himself he knew it was something else, something more than just an electric current, but he'd been struggling all summer long to deny it's existence, to deny_her _existence. But it was hard to deny her now when she was standing before him like this, when they were alone together in the soft moonlight, the paleness of her dress glowing luminescent off moon beams. She was only a few feet away and she filled his senses with her presence. He could see her, feel her,_breathe_ her, and it was torturous.

"Marilla will be worried about you," he reminded her.

"Not once she know's I'm with you," Anne countered rationally. There were few people in Avonlea more trusted than Gilbert Blythe.

Gilbert's expression darkened at Anne's words and the subtle implication behind them. For right at this moment, he didn't know just_how_ trustworthy he was. He knew he was a man with a good deal of self-control, had prided himself always on that trait but now, just now, he felt that self-control stretched to the breaking.

"So, what's wrong Gilbert?" Anne asked suddenly.

"What?" Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise at Anne's question. He hadn't known he'd given any indication that anything was wrong. He thought he'd hid his niggling worry as well as he hid most of his feelings, especially those concerning Anne.

"What's wrong?" Anne repeated. "Why are we checking in on the Millers?" Anne clarified, wondering at Gilbert's motives. For some reason she had picked up on something, something there in the wagon when he'd announced his intentions, intentions that she intuitively perceived were more than casual neighbourliness. Gilbert Blythe was worried about something and it was her sudden blinding intuitiveness about that and him that had motivated her impetuous desire to join him.

Gilbert paused a moment before replying slowly, "Their light is on."

"So?" Anne promptly blankly.

"So....," Gilbert began carefully. "So...the widow Miller is....," he paused, trying to find the most respectful way to phrase it. "The widow Miller is_careful_ with her finances. She wouldn't be burning lamp oil this late at night unless....," Gilbert trailed off his sentence.

Anne nodded with slow understanding. "Unless something was wrong," she finished, for some strange reason feeling a surge of pleasure at the small nod Gilbert made at her correct assessment of his words. That the widow Miller was_careful_ with her money was a huge understatement considering that since she'd lost her husband over a year ago the family had lived on the fringe of penury. Anne didn't know why she hadn't thought of it herself earlier on. A woman barely able to feed her children would not be burning expensive lamp oil so late at night.

"Well let's go then," Anne pronounced firmly in get-to-it authoritativeness, taking a step or two in the direction of the distant light. She stumbled in the darkness and would have pitched forward if a pair of sturdy nearby hands hadn't reached out to grasp her arms to steady her. "Oh I'm sorry Gil," Anne apologized with a hint of sheepishness in her voice at her own clumsiness. "It's a little hard to see in the dark," she explained, conceding the idea that an excursion in the dark whilst wearing a long evening gown perhaps wasn't the most easily achievable feat.

Gilbert dropped his hands away from Anne's arms and clenched them into fists at his side, his brain--or was it his heart?--having registered the familiar jolt from their touch.

"You'd better follow me," he said, almost gruffly, fighting the urge to feel the jolt again, to touch her again. Turning on his heel he headed off towards the Miller house, with Anne following behind, her path outlined by the man in front of her.

Silently the pair trekked the distance to the Miller house, as Anne followed closely behind Gilbert, clearing her skirts from the ground as she concentrated hard on her task, not wanting to hinder their progress. She put so much effort into her concentration that she didn't even engage in her usual prattle and chatter, as Marilla liked to call it. But still it was difficult. The path was uneven in places making it trecherous in the dark, with rocks and stones and growth of vegetation producing invisible obstacles. And it was growing colder now andAnne shivered in her sleeveless evening gown, a gown not suited to an intemperate nighttime trek, the warmth of the travelling blankets in the wagon but a distant and longed-for memory. Suddenly Anne let out a small cry as she took a misstep and was thrown precariously off-balance.

Again, steadying hands appeared out of nowhere, righting her, stilling her. "I'm so sorry Gilbert," Anne wailed almost tearfully. "I don't mean to slow you down." Anne felt sudden remorse for her impetuous decision. After all, Gilbert hadn't asked her to come along, she'd decided that on her own. And now she was flailing about the countryside, only hampering his efforts.

Gilbert felt a softening inside himself, in some place very near his heart, at Anne's mournful declaration. "You're not slowing me down," he told Anne softly, refuting her claims. His hands were on her arms and this time he'd made no hasty motion to remove them. Suddenly he became attuned to the tremors beneath his palms. "Here, you're cold," he said matter-of-factly, quickly turning out of his evening jacket and wrapping it around Anne's shoulders.

Anne inhaled sharply at the action. It was a comforting feeling, that was sure enough. To feel Gilbert's coat around her shoulders, still warm from his body, easing away the chill that had seeped into her skin. But it was something else too. Something else that she couldn't quite describe.

"It's too dark to move very safely. We'd better stay together," Gilbert said, reaching for Anne's hand and pulling her gently along behind him. It really was better this way, Gilbert rationalized the move. It would be easier for Anne if he guided her this way, she would be able to feel the terrain better even if she couldn't see it. Or at least that's what Gilbert told himself as he continued on the way, his hand clasped gently around Anne's.

For her part, Anne used her other hand to raise her skirts as she followed along, for some reason not minding that he'd given her his coat, that he had taken her hand. It really was better this way, she rationalized to herself. It was much easier when he guided her this way, she could almost feel the terrain now, even though she couldn't see it. If only it weren't for that one small distracting thing. That one small thing that niggled in her brain--or was it her heart? It was just a small thing really, she admonished herself. It was hardly worth bothering about. But just for a second there, just when Gilbert had taken her hand, she'd felt the most curious confounding sensation. Something she'd never felt before. She puzzled on it a moment, trying to find a word in her mind to describe it, before settling on the only one that would do.

She'd felt....a jolt.

Author's Note: the next chapter picks up from here, there is more on the 'Miller' storyline, but I thought this would bea good place to end this chapter. Please, please, please (did I say please?) leave me reviews. :)


	5. At the Miller House

Chapter 5 - At the Miller House

Guided by the pale moonlight and the light shining from the front window of the small house, Anne and Gilbert neared the Miller abode. Simultaneously, they spotted a buggy hitched to the post out front and they turned to eye each other in alarm. The buggy was familiar to them both, as it was to most residents of the small community. It belonged to the doctor, and its presence was never a welcome sight, especially so late at night when the purpose of the doctor's visit wasn't likely to be a social one. At this point it might have been logical to affect a discreet turning away, a supposition that whatever had brought the doctor out to the desolate house so late at night was a private matter and not anyone else's business. Surely in big cities like Charlottetown it was said the neighbours pretty much left each other alone, even in situations of sickness or crisis. But this was Avonlea. No such suppositions applied here. Without even a remote thought to questioning it, just knowing that a neighbour in trouble _was _their business, Anne and Gilbert approached the porch, both of them oblivious to the fact they still were still joined hand-to-hand from their evening's trek.

Suddenly the door opened and out spilled a stream of light and Hannah Bedoe, a neighbour of sorts since she worked as a hired girl at the Thompson place next to the Miller homestead. She let out a little gasp and a jerk of surprise to see two shadowy figures on the doorstep, and the water inside the basin she was carrying sloshed over the sides and onto her apron. She quickly recovered her composure and stilled the bowl, though, upon recognizing the figures.

"Gilbert Blythe! Anne Shirley!" she exclaimed, even though her voice, timbered to match the circumstances, was hardly above a whisper. "Whatever are you two doing here?"

"Evening Hannah," Gilbert began. "We were just on our way home from the White Sands party. We saw the light on and wondered if anything was wrong," Gilbert explained their impromptu visit.

Hannah let out a long sigh. "Yeah, there sure is. Mrs. Miller has had one of her spells again, and the doctor is real worried. I can tell he is," she offered knowingly in proud perception, then sidled out past the pair towards the porch railing, dumping the contents of the pan of water over the side onto some bushes.

Anne and Gilbert eyed each other worriedly at the piece of information Hannah had relayed. Mrs. Miller was known to be in poor health, had been in poor health for quite some time now, ever since the death of her husband over a year ago and the resulting impoverished state he'd left them in. The people of Avonlea were helping out as much as they could, why Anne had brought some food and clothes from Marilla just the week before. Poverty was one thing, but deteriorating health was another more worrisome thing.

"I come up earlier today," Hannah continued, turning to the pair and hugging the empty basin flat to her stomach. "Mrs. Miller sent little Lizzy down to the Thompsons to fetch me. I've come up before, when I can, helping out and such around the place, them being so poor off like they is," she explained her particular connection. "So I weren't suprised to see little Lizzy, but I knew something was wrong right off. When I got here I could see Mrs. Miller was in bad shape so I sent young Jerry Monaghan for the doctor. I been here all this time and I'm powerful wore out," she sighed heavily with that truth. It had been hard working for the Thompson's all day and then spending the rest of the day helping out at a sick neighbours.

"It was good of you to come help out," Anne said, bringing a small smile of pleasure to Hannah's face for the appreciation shown to her here-to-fore unacknowledged helpfulness. She was a kind soul, Hannah was. A kind soul housed in a fairly short but oversized frame, her rounded cheeks stained a noticeable pink from exertion. "Is there anything we can do?" Anne asked, unaware she had unconsciously offered Gilbert's services along with her own.

"I'll say!" Hannah jumped eagerly at the offer. "If you can get those two little ones of hers off to bed that would surely help. I haven't had time, what with helping the doctor," she said, her voice tinged with pride at such a prestigious responsibility. "They been running underfoot all night and they won't listen to nothing I tell them, that's what." Hannah rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Anne smiled at the description and the request. If it's one thing she was good at it was minding wayward children. Seems like she had spent the better part of her life doing that, both before her years at Avonlea, when she had minded the children of the families she'd stayed with as an orphan, and now as a teacher minding a roomful of students at the Avonlea school.

"Of course we can do that," Anne replied, taking a step towards Hannah to reinforce her offer. It was only then she realized herself still attached to Gilbert Blythe, her arm automatically extended to bridge the greater distance between them. Her hand had been resting comfortably in his all this while, Anne realized. She blushed profusely at the knowledge. What must Hannah think of the spectacle? Slowly, Anne reclaimed her hand while Gilbert, eyeing her blush with interest, released his hold.

"Of course we can help out with the children," Anne rushed to say, trying to cover the awkward moment, then realizing she had inadvertantly created another. "That is, er, I mean...we can help, can't we Gil?" she turned to him and asked, only now realizing she had offered his services without consultation.

Gilbert smiled, for some reason inordinately pleased at Anne's presumption of their togetherness on the matter. "Of course we can help," he affirmed, more than rewarded for his words when Anne threw him a look of gratitude. "Where are they?"

"In the kitchen," Hannah replied on another sigh. "And they ain't one lick tired, even it being so late and all. Come on, follow me," she instructed, leading the trio into the house, the main floor of which was an open room with a kitchen off one end and two bedrooms on the other. Once inside the warm room, Gilbert tapped Anne on the shoulder as she made to follow Hannah to the kitchen. Anne paused to meet his eyes inquiringly.

"You might want to take your co....er....my coat off," he suggested on a whisper, as Anne blushed at the reminder that she was also still wearing the coat he'd put around her shoulders back outside when they'd begun their trek here.

"Y-yes," Anne stammered, still in high colour, as she removed the coat and handed it to Gilbert, then turned quickly to follow on Hannah's heals. Gilbert tossed the coat on a nearby chair and followed the women.

"The doc's in there with Mrs. Miller," Hannah whispered, pausing to incline her head towards one of the nearby closed doors. "And here the littles ones be," she said, stopping on the kitchen threshold, surveying the sight before her with a jaded eye. With the light from an oil lamp illuminating the room, it wasn't hard to pick out seven-year-old Lizzy Miller and four-year old Henry Miller under the kitchen table stacking pans and enamel dishes and even a small log or two around themselves into something vaguely resembling a ...a...well none of the adults was quite sure _what _it resembled.

"Hello Lizzy, hello Henry," Anne approached and drew up her skirts a little before crouching low. She peered over the edge of the children's fabricated structure. "What you are doing?" she asked in polite inquisition.

"We're building a fort," Lizzy supplied happily, oblivious in the way only children sometimes are of a serious situation around them.

"Yeah, a 'ort," Henry chimed in, nodding vigorously at Anne Shirley, the nice lady he'd seen many times before when she'd visited, always bearing a basket of goodies. If the children appeared to show no outward distress by the doctor's visit, by the possible calamity of illness, it was only because their mother had been sick for what would seem to a child a very long time, and because the doctor was already a frequent visitor to their home. For them, nothing much was out of the ordinary.

"Hannah tells me it's way past your bedtime," Anne tactfully broached the bedtime issue. "Aren't you even a little bit tired?" she asked persuasively.

"Not me!" Lizzy giggled.

"Me 'either!" Henry chimed.

"Hmm," Anne intoned, seeing she was going to have a more difficult task than she'd thought. Suddenly an idea came to her. "You know," she began thoughtfully, rubbing the side of her face in mock contemplation. "You know, I know quite a lot about forts and castles and the like. Only these are magical castles. Castles from a long, long time ago. Ones with moats, and dragons, and princesses....," she trailed off, pleased to note she had piqued the children's interest and they stilled their activity to regard her solemnly. "Maybe....maybe I could tell you more about it. Maybe I could tell you more about it after I help you get ready for bed. How does sound?" she bargained.

"Okay," Lizzy quickly acquiesced to the enticing offer, scrambling from under the table, while her brother mimicked her move.

Anne stood, turning to flash Gilbert and Hannah a triumphant grin. She was even more pleased when Lizzy came round to her side and slipped her hand into her own. When Henry was within arms reach, Anne nudged him over towards Gilbert. "You're with him," she informed the child, her tone just this side of teasing as she watched Gilbert's surprised look with amusement.

Henry obligingly did as he was told and stood before Gilbert, peering up at him expectantly. Gilbert cleared his throat, unused to interacting with children so young as this, so small as this, not quite sure what to do.

Anne picked up the oil lamp to light their way as she and Lizzy moved to exit the room. Seeing Gilbert's inaction, she paused at the threshold. "Take his hand and follow us," she said, meeting Gilbert's eyes with the instruction, her voice and eyes sparkling with amusement. For once she was in her element, the more experienced capable one, and it gave her a smug satisfaction. Gilbert noted the smug expression, the amusement, and whispered back in mock obedience, "Yes, ma'am," his brow raised in askance at her order. But Anne only smiled and turned away, leading Lizzy to the small bedroom on the far side of the house.

Gilbert looked down at the small boy below him. "Well Henry, let's go, shall we?" he asked, and offered his hand. Trustingly, the small boy reached his own hand up to take the offered one, before they both turned to follow the others out of the room.

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Author's Note: the next chapter picks up right where this scene leaves off. Sorry to be breaking up the chapters this way, but it took me the whole day to write this bit and I wante to post _something_ after all that! lol! Anyway, if you are following along and enjoying the story, please leave me comments, I really appreciate the motivation to keep going.


	6. A Bedtime Story

Chapter 6 - A Bedtime Story

Anne stood in the children's bedroom, casting her eye about the room as she held the oil lamp high, its flame spilling shadowy flickers across the barren walls. It was a small bedroom, spartan of furnishings, with a single bed in the middle, a washstand to the side, and a chest of drawers upon which sat a few wooden soldiers and a stuffed handmade doll. "Ah, your nightshirts," she said aloud as she completed her survey, having spotted the two bedtime garments drapped across the small chair in the corner. She set the oil lamp atop the chest of drawers and went to fetch the shirts, tossing the smaller nighshirt to Gilbert who stood uncertainly just inside the bedroom door.

"That one's Henry's," she informed him, a bit of an implied order behind her words. Anne turned away and led Lizzy to one side of the bed. "Hop up Lizzy," she instructed. The little girl immediately complied, bouncing as she sat on the edge of the bed. With expert fingers, Anne began to unlace the child's shoes, removing them along with her stockings. Vaguely she was aware of Gilbert mimicking her movements with an opposite child on the opposite side of the bed. She reached for the buttons on the play apron that covered Lizzy's dress.

"What about the castles? The castles from long, long ago," Lizzy prompted from beneath Anne's busy hands, remembering the storytelling bargain.

"Not yet. I'll tell you all about it as soon as you're ready for bed," Anne replied, focussed on her task. When Lizzy slumped dejectedly in disappointment, Anne's eyes began to twinkle mischievously. "Besides, we're trying to beat them, you know," she informed Lizzy casually.

"Huh?" Lizzy looked up inquisitively, not understanding.

Anne juttered her chin towards the opposite side of the bed, gesturing to the man and boy across the way. "Them. We're trying to beat them," Anne explained, expertly shedding the apron and moving quickly on to the buttons on the child's dress. "We can't let them be first," Anne said.

"Be first what?" this was from Gilbert, clumsily fighting with a stubborn button on Henry's shirt.

"The first one ready for bed," Anne explained the here-to-fore unknown competition to everyone.

Lizzy's eyes widened in understanding and pleasure of the game now afoot. "Hurry up Miss Shirley!" she exclaimed in delight, overcome by the thrill of the competition as she raised her arms enthusiastically above her head, enabling Anne to tug her dress off with ease and to begin working on the shift underneath.

"Hey, this is the first I've heard of this!" Gilbert objected in mock outrage, doubling the speed of his own child-assisting efforts. Anne merely looked up for a second to flash him a challenging impish grin. Gilbert almost laughed out loud. Was everything _always_ a competition with her? he smiled, remembering their school days rivalries. Only he had to admit that their current day rivalries were more fun than had been any of the scholastic variety.

Even without advance notice, it was a fair competition. Yes Anne had more experience readying children for bed and her expert fingers fairly flew about the task, but then again Gilbert had less work to do since Henry was a boy, not a girl, and his clothes hadn't the number of buttons requiring attention that Lizzy's did. In the end it came down to a strategic error. Both nightshirts went over each child's head at almost the exact same second but Gilbert had forgotten to unbutton the opening of Henry's nightshirt and the garment sat atop his head and didn't budge. With Lizzy's shirt successfully over her head Anne tweaked the final button closed and hustled the girl under the covers and into bed.

"There!" Anne announced triumphantly, as Lizzy giggled in pleasure. Anne turned to regard the scene across the bed with amusement. "Can I help you there Mr. Blythe?" she asked teasingly.

"No thank you, Miss Shirley," Gilbert replied in mock formality, clumsily trying to rescue a child hidden beneath the folds of unco-operative clothing. "Henry and I are doing just fine," he stated in an air of prideful independence, finally finding and releasing the hindering button. The nightshirt floated downwards and Henry emerged from his temporary prison. Gilbert met the child's eyes and smiled. "We're just fine, aren't we Henry?" he asked conspiratorially.

Henry regarded Gilbert with fascination, with more fascination and interest in the person than he'd had in the previous game or of their winning or losing. Henry had no father in his life and having a man in the house, helping him at bedtime, was to the little boy something new and strange and kind of nice. Henry nodded and adopted something of Gilbert's tone as he repeated, "We're jus' 'ine." Gilbert smiled in approval, a bit of male comradie now cemented between the two. Gilbert helped Henry thread his arms through the shirt's sleeves and then coaxed him under the covers next to his sister. His task completed--and it was a first for him, assisting a child with his bedtime routine--he looked over at Anne.

"I believe this is where you take over," he taunted lightly with a smile, a reminder that while he was all done his work, she had more to do. She was the one who'd promised a story, had used it to entice the children to get ready for bedtime.

Undaunted by the task before her, Anne returned Gilbert's look with a smile of her own. She wasn't intimidated, this was the part she loved best. Stories and storytelling. Anne nudged Lizzy over and sat herself down on the bed next to the two children who snuggled together in anticipation. Anne tilted her head upwards a moment or two in thoughtfulness, while Gilbert pulled the small chair from the corner up close to the bed opposite Anne and sat down. He watched Anne's face with interest, almost seeing the workings inside her head as she rifled through her mind retrieving fragments of imaginings she would use in her story, the light from the lamp glowing softly over her face and form. It was but a moment later when she returned from her reflections and leaned sideways over the children's lower halves, arching one arm over them onto the mattress to prop herself, enveloping them in a protective arc. She looked down on the two attentive faces and began to speak.

"Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, in an enchanted castle high above the forest floor....." the story began innocuously enough, with Anne's voice sure and steady in the telling, as if she were merely recounting a remembered event, and not a fabricated one delivered from the depths of her imagination. Soon the story was filled with the the promised moats, and dragons and princesses. There was even an heroic Lady Lizabeth and a valiant Prince Henry. Mesmerized, the wide-eyed children listened, not moving a muscle, except to blink and except for Henry who had tentatively moved his thumb to his mouth to suck on it. Anne smiled at that, but didn't pause in the storytelling. She only softened her voice and slowed her speech, deliberately wooing the children towards slumber.

Gilbert Blythe leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees as he watched the scene before him with something like awe on his face. Anne's soft measured words were the only sound in the room and the scene was intimate, too intimate. The low lamplight highlighted Anne's face and the children's faces, illuminating them out of shadowy surroundings. Anne's gaze was locked on the children, as theirs were on her, mirroring between them an almost tangible connection. Gilbert felt an odd tugging in his heart, almost a wishfulness or perhaps a wistfulness. Surely anyone peering into the room just now would think the scene an odd picture. The elegantly dressed woman in an evening gown sitting on a bed in a drab and barren room, entertaining two small children. But Gilbert had the sudden thought that he'd never seen Anne more beautiful than right at this moment. He'd seen her at the White Sands ball tonight, had seen the admiring looks the other men had cast her way, acknowledging her loveliness, but this was a different beauty. Now there was an added softness, an added warmth and womanliness. Her voice was filled with gentleness and tenderness for the two small youngsters for whom she wove a magical tale of castles and dragons and princesses. She would be that way, Gilbert realized. She would be that way with her own children, the thought came to him, the sudden revelation tearing at his heart. Her children. But not his. He swallowed hard at that reality and dropped his head. It was almost too much to bear.

"There," Anne breathed the single word quietly. "There," she repeated, and Gilbert looked up. The room was quiet and Anne was brushing the hair across Henry's forehead out of his eyes. The child was fast asleep and so was his sister. Gilbert hadn't realized the story had ended, or so he now supposed. Anne's "there" had been spoken from a silence, he now realized, so the story must have ended. Or maybe she had just stopped because the children were asleep. He didn't know. He had become so lost here in this little room, with his thoughts and his wishes, so lost in _her_ that he hadn't realized when she'd stopped talking and the silence had taken over.

"They're alseep now," Anne whispered, gently tugging the thumb from Henry's mouth before turning her head to look Gilbert's way. Their eyes met and Gilbert inhaled sharply. It was one thing to watch her with the children, to watch her gentleness and caring, but to read it in her eyes was another thing. He held her gaze, something smoldering darkly in the depths of his own. Anne blushed and dropped her gaze, feeling suddenly confused and uncertain.

"I guess...I guess we should go now," she said, peering up underneath her lashes to catch Gilbert's nod. She turned back to the children and smoothed the blankets over them, then delivered a feather-light kiss to each forehead before rising. Gilbert also rose, watching Anne as she made her way around to him, picking up discarded clothing from their earlier fastest-to-bed contest as she went. Anne stopped at the now vacated chair and draped the clothes carefully across the back. Gilbert took a step back, politely deferring the exit path towards the door to Anne. After a final little look at the sleeping children, Anne turned and headed out the door. Gilbert, too, indulged in a final glance at the children before he turned and followed on Anne's heels, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Author's Plea: If you're following along, please leave me story comments....thank you! 


	7. An Uncertain Future

Chapter 7 - An Uncertain Future

"They ought to go to the orphan asylum in Charlottetown."

Anne Shirley froze at the emphatic statement and felt something cold grip her heart in a terrifying vice. This couldn't be happening. This was all some horrible nightmare and she would wake up soon. For the sake of Lizzy and Henry Miller she prayed to God she would wake up soon.

Had it been only three weeks since she and Gil had first stopped in at the Miller place? The doctor had been there, tending to a sickly Mrs. Miller, but when they'd talked to him later that night he'd assured them she was much improved. Indeed, Anne and Gilbert had visited many times over the next several weeks, along with Marilla and Mrs. Barry and many of the other neighbours, who'd taken to checking in on the struggling widow with her two small children, and on each visit Mrs. Miller's health had appeared to be improving, not declining. So word of her sudden death had come as a shock. Heart failure, so the medical report said. There were some, like Rachel Lynde, who said it could more rightly be said that Mrs. Miller died of a broken heart. That she'd had never really recovered after the death of her husband a year ago and her subsequent continuing ill-health was the result of that. Anne only wished they could have done more, done _something _to prevent this outcome. But sometimes God and providence had other plans. So here they all were, Mrs. Miller buried in her grave and the rest of the townsfolk gathered in Mrs. Barry's parlour to decide the future of the two small children who'd had the terrible misfortune to lose both parents in such a short period of time.

"The orphan asylum is just the place for them." That was Mrs. Bluitt's cold pronouncement to the group, made from her position perched stiffly on the edge of Mrs. Barry's upholstered parlour chair. Mrs. Bluitt, the mother of a dozen children herself, and apparently without an ounce of sympathy in her heart. A few murmurs of agreement rose up, and one or two even spoke out in approval of the idea. It's not that anyone _wanted_ to send the children to an orphanage but what was there to do? They _were _orphans and Mrs. Miller had no other family. They hadn't even been able to locate any relatives to notify them of the death, at least not in the limited amount of time they'd had before burial was necessary. It was the Avonlea community who had pooled their resources to pay for Mrs. Miller's modest funeral and a small plot in the corner of the Avonlea cemetery next to her husband. Goodness knew Mrs. Miller had left no money and her house and property were owed to the bank. And now her children were to be sent to an orphanage. Apparently securing Mrs. Miller's final resting place was to be the end of the Avonlea generosity, Anne swallowed the bitter realization.

Orphans. Just two little orphans. The words tore at Anne's heart, at something deep and hidden in her heart, at something that had been hidden in her heart for a long, long time. She looked about the room at the assembled group. What did they know? What did any of them know? What did any of them know of being an orphan? Of what it was like? What right had they to...to....Anne felt a bubble of anger and righteousness rise up inside her. Without conscious awareness, she felt herself rising to her feet. Slowly, purposely, until she stood straight-backed and high-chinned, her posture demanding attention and recognition. It wasn't long coming. Soon the murmurs of discussion in the room quieted and every eye turned to her, sensing something about to unfold. Anne's gaze swept the room and she purposely met the eyes of every person who had directly or indirectly supported Mrs. Bluitt's stance, issuing them an unrepentant challenge before she began to speak.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing." There was an obvious disgust in Anne's tone. "I've always thought Avonlea was the best place in Prince Edward Island, the best place in the world. With the most caring generous people. But I was wrong," Anne said and paused, deliberately letting that assessment sink in. "Sending those two children to an orphanage is the coldest, most unfeeling thing I've ever heard of and I'm ashamed of you all for even considering it." Oh they would hate her, would revile her for stating such an opinion but Anne didn't care. Mrs. Bluitt was already fixing her with a narrowed unapproving gaze while most of the others just gaped in astonishment in reaction to her blunt outburst, but it didn't matter to Anne. She was fighting for those children. Lizzy and Henry had no one to speak up for them, for their interests, but she would do it. Yes, even at the risk of invoking Mrs. Bluitt's wrath and the displeasure of her fellow townspeople, she would do it.

"But Anne, there's no one here who wants to take on the care of two children," the whiny protest came from Charlie Sloane's father. "Most of us already have our hands full looking after our own families, our own children," he complained.

Anne nodded slowly. "Yes, I know that Mr. Sloane," she conceded the point. Most of Avonlea's residents weren't rich to be sure, and even the ones who were better off mightn't be willing to take on the challenge of two boisterous children. "But it seems to me we can do better by these children than shipping them off to an orphanage three weeks after their mother's death. How do we know they don't have kin somewhere? Has anyone even really _tried_ to locate some family?" she asked, remembering there had been precious little time before the funeral for the task and just how thorough a search could be made in three weeks time anyway? Anne looked about the room but a small silence was the only thing that greeted her question.

"Anne's right."

The words were quiet but they broke the silence as all eyes turned to their owner. Marilla Cuthbert was one of Avonlea's oldest and most respected inhabitants and her opinion carried a lot of weight. "We can do better by those children," Marilla repeated Anne's own declaration, endorsing it with her own. Anne looked down at Marilla who sat to her right and met her eyes with gratitude. A sudden love and appreciation swelled in Anne's heart. She knew she sometimes befuddled Marilla, that she didn't always act in ways Marilla wanted or expected, maybe had even sometimes embarrassed her. Like now maybe, when she'd lashed out at Marilla's neighbours and friends, almost insulting them into action. But there was Marilla, quietly supporting her as always.

"Perhaps some inquires can be made as to any relatives. An ad placed in the Charlottetown paper maybe. I'd be willing to check on that."

Anne whipped her gaze to the opposite end of the room. The suggestion and offer had come from Gilbert, leaning next to the fireplace. She had barely met his eyes with her thanks before another voice spoke.

"And the children can stay here until we at least know if they've got any other family. It's the least we can do." The offer came from Mrs. Barry.

"I'll help you look after them Mother." It was Diana, quick to pipe in with her own generous offer of assistance.

"We'll need a pool of funds for the newspaper ad, and maybe we could hire a solicitor or an investigator even. I'd be happy to look after organizing that." The words and offer came from Mr. Spurgeon, Moody Spurgeon's father.

"Mrs. Barry, I can send you up some clothes I was making for Beth and Kenny but they don't really need them. They'd be about the right size for Lizzy and Henry and I can make some more too if you need them." That from Mrs. Hamilton, mother of two children just about the same age as Lizzy and Henry.

Anne stood in the middle of the room, stunned by the sudden outpouring of assistance and generosity that was flowing all about her. She felt suddenly ashamed. Yes, ashamed of her earlier outburst. Avonlea _was_ the best place in the world, with the most generous caring people. She had only to look about her now to see the truth. Oh how she loved these people. This place.

"Well Mrs. Barry, I don't know as you'd be needing them but I've got a half dozen jars of peach preserves I can send along. I never met a young'un yet that didn't have a taste for my peach preserves," Rachel Lynde offered with a hint of pride in her voice as the room broke out into some lighthearted laughter, completely eliminating any traces of the former discord. Trust Rachel Lynde to take any opportunity to boast of her culinary prowess. But even Rachel smiled at her own antics and it was a happy and easy note upon which to break up the meeting.

As the room's occupants filed out Anne was surprised when many of them passed by her with either an approving smile or a pat on her arm. Why it was as if they were _thanking_ her in some way, she realized with astonishment. She had practically insulted them with her little tirade earlier on and they were _thanking _her? It was only Mrs. Bluitt who completely ignored her, who swept haughtily past her and out of the house. Perhaps Anne didn't fully understand it now, but the residents of Avonlea were more than pleased someone had stood up to the heartless Mrs. Bluitt and any who might have followed her suggestions.

When Diana came abreast of her, Anne was quick to mouth a silent "thank you" to her. Diana was all that was good and generous and it was a relief to Anne just knowing Lizzy and Henry would have such a gentle caretaker. Diana merely squeezed Anne's hand and smiled back, always pleased to help her bosom friend.

Gilbert passed her next and they exchanged a silent glance. Then Gilbert smiled and winked at her. Anne felt a blush creep up her neck and settle into two splotches on her cheeks. She dropped her gaze from his, embarrassed at her own reaction. Gilbert was expressing his approval too she realized, in his own particular way. But that wink had set her to blushing in confusion and she didn't know just why that should be.

"Can I walk you home Anne?" Gilbert politely enquired, but Anne shook her head no. The afternoon's events were more than enough excitement for one day and Anne had the sudden desire to be alone. Gilbert nodded his goodbye and moved away, while Anne quickly turned to Marilla standing close by and said, "Marilla, I'll be along shortly. I just have a few things to take care of first," knowing she needed a bit of time to herself. That she felt shaky and unsettled inside and it had nothing to do with the public spectacle she had made of herself. She was used to making a spectacle of herself, that was nothing new. But this was. This strange anxious feeling inside was new, almost as if something was pushing for release.

"Mind that you don't take too long," was Marilla's only comment as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.

Anne nodded and waited until the room had cleared. Then she too took her leave, but instead of following the road back to Green Gables she headed towards the thick stand of trees near Barry's Pond. Once she was well hidden inside the sheltering forest she leaned against a tree and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She was trembling, she realized, somewhat surprised that she couldn't seem to make herself stop and that instead the tremors were only growing stronger. It was something to do with what had happened back there at the house, she knew. Oh, everything was alright for the moment and Lizzy and Henry were safe for now. But it was the possibilities that troubled her. They were two orphans and they faced an uncertain future. Just as another orphan, a little red-haired girl, had faced many years ago. Someplace deep within a small section of Anne's heart there was a little locked room, a place she never opened, not to anyone. And that place had been touched today. No longer able to supress her feelings, Anne turned her face into the tree.

And wept.


	8. Tears and Comfort

I'm having a little trouble uploading this chapter and this is my 3rd attempt. The system doesn't like the dot dot dot I use a lot and keeps cutting off sentences prematurely. I have redone the chapter removing the dot dot dots and replaced them with dashes so I hope that works. If you're reading along and enjoying the story please leave me a few comments, I'd love to hear from you. This chapter picks up right where the last one left off.

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Chapter 8 - Tears and Comfort

Gilbert Blythe entered the stand of trees near Barry's Pond and paused a moment, puzzled by a strange sound. His brain tried to process the noise but it was a ways off and muffled and he wasn't certain what it was. Had Anne heard it too? Had she heard the strange noise too and that's why she'd come this way? He hadn't meant to follow Anne into the forest, he'd only double-backed on his own journey home to remind Mr. Barry he'd be by tomorrow to work in his potato field when he'd spotted Anne heading into the stand of trees. Out of curiousity he had followed her, wondering what might be up since Green Gables lay in the opposite direction.

And now he stood amongst the sheltering trees wondering at the odd sound. Carefully he drew deeper into the forest, following the sound, determined to discover its source. Why it almost sounded like--like someone was crying--no, that couldn't be, Gilbert rationalized away the improbable answer. Someone crying? In the middle of the forest? Gilbert shook his head. Rounding several thick tree trunks, letting his ear guide his way, he finally stopped dead in his tracks, stunned by what was brought into view. It _was_ someone crying! That was the first shock. The second was that the someone was Anne Shirley! Gilbert blinked. But the strange apparition didn't disappear. Anne Shirley stood with her face turned into a wide maple tree, her hands up close beside her head on either side of her face and she was crying. No, sobbing was the better word. Her shoulders shook with her tears and Gilbert felt a knife of pain twist in his own gut to see her so. To see her in so much pain. Swiftly he moved up close behind her.

"Anne! Anne, what's wrong?" he asked in alarm. Why was she crying? Had something happened? Was she hurt?

At the sound of the familiar voice, Anne suddenly froze, her back stiffening in surprise as she halted her tears. Gilbert. What was Gilbert doing here, of all people? The thought of anyone finding her like this was appalling, the fact that it was Gilbert who'd found her--found her crying like some little child, her behaviour totally incongruous with the grown woman she purportedly was--was the absolute worst.

"Go away Gilbert. Leave me alone." The words were harsh, as she'd meant them to be, even muffled as they were said into a tree.

"Anne!" Gilbert said her name in surprised objection. What did she mean 'go away'? Not about to leave anyone alone, especially a friend who was crying, Gilbert's tone took on a bit of authority, "Anne, what happened." It was a command, not a question.

"Gilbert please!" Anne begged, her voice beginning to quaver, tears threatening to erupt once again.

Realizing he was getting nowhere, Gilbert amended his command to a plea, "Well let me get someone then. Mrs. Barry. Or Diana. Please Anne, you're upset, let me get someone."

"No, I don't want to see anyone!" Anne cried in alarm over that possibility. That would just make this all so much worse by spreading her humiliation even more.

Gilbert paused over that pronouncement, eyeing Anne's slender form with her back still to him. "Then I guess you'll have to make do with me," he said, his tone suddenly light and non-pitying.

Anne sniffled aloud. Gilbert wasn't going to go away, she realized. Suddenly she noted a splotch of white in the corner of her vision near her left shoulder. A hankerchief. Gilbert was offering her a hankerchief. Anne sniffled again and reached for the small neatly-folded cloth. She took a moment to wipe her eyes and nose and then turned from the tree to meet Gilbert's questioning gaze.

"I'm perfectly alright," she announced, raising her chin just a little in defiance. As Gilbert raised a doubtful brow at her assertion, Anne proceeded to defend herself. "I was just a little upset by what happened back there," she clarified, waving her hand dismissively in the direction of the Barry house.

"Back there?" Gilbert turned a little to gaze through the thick trees back towards the house. Back there? Did she mean in the Barry parlour today? "You mean you're upset about what you said to Mrs. Bluitt?" Gilbert asked, trying to piece it all together. "But Anne," he protested, "I admired what you did back there. Everyone did. There's no reason to be upset about it."

But Anne was already shaking her head and wiping the hankerchief under her eyes, removing the final traces of tears. "No, I wasn't upset about that," she said quietly.

Gilbert's brow knit in puzzlement. "Then what?"

Anne took a deep steadying breath and looked up to meet Gilbert's eyes with the truth. "I was upset about--about Lizzy and Henry being sent to an orphanage," she explained, surprised to feel a sudden relief now that the words had been spoken out loud.

"But they aren't!" Gilbert countered. "Being sent to an orphanage I mean."

"Not yet maybe," Anne said pragmatically, after all, nothing was really settled yet. She'd only managed to buy Lizzy and Henry some more time on the remote chance that they did have some family somewhere willing to take them.

With some small illumination of understanding beginning to form inside him Gilbert asked a leading question, "And going to an orphanage would be--?" his words trailing off open-ended.

"That would be the worst thing that could ever happen to them," Anne finished, her words forceful over the bald truth. With the statement now out in the open, Anne rushed on. "They don't understand, Gil. Mrs. Bluitt and the others. None of them do. Not even Marilla or Diana--or y-you," she stammered. "No one understands what it's like to live in an orphanage."

Gilbert eyed Anne thoughtfully. "But you do," he said quietly.

Anne met Gilbert's eyes and read something in their depths. Slowly she nodded. "Yes, I do."

The glimmer of illumination now burning bright within him Gilbert asked, "And what is it like to live in an orphanage?"

Anne hesitated over the question. It was strange really. In all this time she'd been in Avonlea no one had ever asked her such a question before. Oh, she'd sometimes mentioned some of her childhood experiences to others, usually an amusing escapade of some sort, but no one had out-and-out asked before what living in an orphanage was like. And she had lived in plenty of them. Between the orphanages and the various families she'd stayed with Anne had lost count of the number of times she's been shuffled around before she'd finally come to Avonlea. Blessed, beautiful Avonlea, her only true home. But Gilbert was waiting for answer. Anne peered up at him under her lashes, trying to read him, knowing she couldn't bear anyone's pity, and especially not his. Finding no signs of pity in his countenance, merely what appeared to be polite inquisition, Anne struggled to find the words to reply. She, who had no trouble finding words to describe the marble halls and divinely beautiful sunbursts of her imagination, had trouble finding the words to answer Gilbert's simple question.

"It's--cold--and--lonely--and--," she choked the stark words out. "Oh Gil, don't you see?" she wailed. "It would be ten times worse for Lizzy and Henry than it was for me. I never knew my mother, I never knew Avonlea. They've known all this. To go to an orphanage from here--" Anne trailed off, waving her hand about her. "Don't you see? My childhood only _began_ when I was eleven. Theirs would _end_ at seven and four. I cannot bear it Gil!" she cried out, close to tears once again.

Suddenly Gil took a step forward and reached out his hand to place on Anne's arm. He knew she was worried about the children, but her words had revealed even more than a justifiable concern for two orphans. He understood that Anne was mourning for lost childhoods, and one of those childhoods had been her own. Her wretched statements had produced an overwhelming urge to comfort her. But theirs was a peculiar relationship. They were friends, yes. But for him he knew it was something more. But he could never express the 'more', only the friendship. So he merely placed a comforting hand on Anne's arm at the same time he fought the urge to envelope her in his embrace.

Her revealing narrative over, Anne looked down, averting her gaze from Gilbert. She felt his hand on her arm, knowing he meant to reassure her, to comfort her, and for once she didn't mind the physical contact. Gilbert was her friend and it had been a huge emotional relief inside her to say what she had, to finally express some of the turmoil she had always kept locked so carefully in her heart.

"I'm sorry, Gil," Anne apologized. "You probably think I'm acting like some silly schoolgirl."

"I don't think anything of the kind," Gilbert refuted. "I think you're a very caring person, who doesn't want to see anyone go through what they did," Gilbert stopped, realizing his own reference to Anne's unhappy years before she came to Avonlea was maybe getting too personal.

But Anne didn't seem to mind or notice. "Thank you, Gil," she whispered, her head still lowered. It was reassuring to know that he didn't think less of her for her outburst. That he didn't think her silly or childish. Suddenly she felt a squeezing pressure on her arm and looked up.

"Can I walk you home Anne?" Gilbert asked, tenderly smiling the question, the second time today he'd asked it.

This time Anne smiled back, and nodded.


	9. Godspeed Gilbert

Chapter 9

"I heard Gilbert volunteered right away," Diana said, leaning towards Anne, her face animated as she relayed the information with confidential relish. "Just as soon as Mr. Spurgeon said he thought someone ought to go to Charlottetown in person to inquire about Lizzy and Henry's relatives, Gilbert spoke right up. Mr. Spurgeon said there'd be a better chance of finding relatives if someone inquired in person, instead of just sending the letters. Charlie Sloane told Fred that there was a roomful of others there when Mr. Sprugeon suggested it but Gilbert volunteered to go before any of them had a chance. Fred said Charlie Sloane told him Gilbert's already left. He said that Moody took him to the station this afternoon," Diana finished up, her expession revealing delight in being the purveyor of Avonlea news, and in particular of _this _Avonlea news.

Anne listened to Diana with wide eyes as they both sat in the white wicker chairs that graced the front verandah of the house on Orchard Slope. Anne gaped in astonishment, trying to take it all in. Had it only been yesterday she's poured out her tale of woe to Gilbert in the forest? Her woeful tale about how upset she was at the mere idea of Lizzy and Henry being sent to an orphanage? And now today, when she'd come to visit Diana at Orchard Slope, she'd been apprised of this sudden development. That Gilbert had gone to Charlottetown.

"But Diana," Anne protested. "Why would Gilbert go to Charlottetown _now_?" she asked incredulously. Gilbert was supposed to be working for the summer, on his father's farm but also on the farms of their neighbours, earning his way to pay for medical school in the fall. That he should suddenly abandon that to head to Charlottetown was certainly baffling.

Diana shrugged delicately, turning her watchful mother-like eye on the two children playing in the front yard. "Let's just hope he has luck finding out if Lizzy and Henry even _have_ some family who could take them."

Anne followed Diana's gaze out towards the children, frolicking seemingly-carefree in the yard as she mulled the information in her mind, a small niggling suspicion beginning to form. Had Gilbert gone to Charlottetown because of her? Because of what she'd said to him yesterday? No, that couldn't be, she dismissed the idea just as swiftly as it had come. Gilbert was as concerned as she was about Lizzy and Henry. No doubt that is why he had made the sudden offer of his services, she rationalized. It had nothing to do with her. Still, she knew it would be a huge imposition for him, to give up weeks of earnings to search the public records of Charlottetown looking for the relatives of two small children. But oh, how she hoped he could! How she hoped he _would _be successful.

"Anne, what you doing?" Diana asked, as Anne broke out from her reverie to meet Diana's puzzled gaze. Anne blushed with realization at what she'd been caught doing unawares. She'd been mouthing a prayer, a silent prayer, her mouth forming soundless words.

"Nothing Diana," Anne fibbed. "It's probably time I got going," she announced, rising to her feet but continuing the prayer in her mind.

Godspeed Gilbert. Godspeed.


	10. A Good Man

Chapter 10

Three weeks later....

"It wasn't that hard, really," Gilbert explained, standing in the Barry parlour speaking to the assembled group. Before him stood Mr. and Mrs. Barry, Marilla and Anne, and a new couple. The new couple he had brought back to Avonlea with him. "Once I found the marriage records for Mr. and Mrs. Miller it wasn't hard to track down the witnesses listed on the license--Mrs. Miller's cousin and her husband here," he said, indicating the pleasant-looking couple standing next to him. The woman bore a striking resemblance to the recently departed Mrs. Miller and there was little doubt of her familial connection.

"We lost track of Louisa and Hugh after their marriage," the woman explained regretfully. "We came into some hard years of our own, as you can see," the woman waved down at herself, shabbily clad in rather outdated attire, "and somehow we just didn't keep in touch like we should have. It appears Louisa endured some hard times herself and I'm so sorry we weren't able to help," the woman apologized, casting a glance at her also-remorseful-looking husband. In the hard scramble for existence they'd endured the past several years it had been easy enough to lose track of a distant cousin when the day-to-day focus was on mere survival. And then just a week ago they'd been contacted by the young man. The young man who stood next to them now, who had borne the unwelcome news of Louisa Miller's recent death and that of her husband a year before that. Unwelcome news, but still better delivered in person than by some cold impersonal letter.

"Well, you're here now, that's the important thing." It was Anne Shirley who's said that in almost joyful glee, looking at the pair one to the other. She liked what she saw. Oh true enough, the couple didn't appear to be overly affluent, their wardrobe clearly indicating their status in life. But Anne wasn't judging by appearances of wealth, there wasn't much worth in material things anyway. What Lizzy and Henry needed was a loving home, and Anne was overjoyed at this unexpected prospect. The woman was on the petite side, her face a little bit lined from years of work, but her eyes were kindly. The man wasn't much taller than his wife, a little more rotund and he walked with a slight limp, aided by a cane. They both comported themselves with respect, with a quiet dignity, and yet they exuded a natural warmth and friendliness. Yes, this pair met with her approval, Anne decided, casting Gilbert an appreciative glance, a glance of deep thanks for what he had done.

Gilbert met Anne's gaze with a raised brow, surprised to be the recipient of such a glance. There was something in Anne's gaze, something he had never seen before, the way her eyes had softened and the way she fairly glowed when she looked his way that shook him to his core. He knew he had gone to Charlottetown partly because of Anne, because of what she had told him that day in the forest. He was as concerned as anyone about the children but when Mr. Spurgeon had asked for a volunteer to travel to Charlottetown to seek out any relatives, his first thought had been of Anne, and what he could do to help. He was only glad his trip had proved fruitful. He didn't know if he could have borne Anne's disappointment if he'd returned with unhappier news. And if he'd missed out on three weeks of summer earnings towards his medical school tuition he only had to take in Anne's glowing face at this moment to know it had all been worth it.

"Ah, here comes Diana with the children now," Mrs. Barry announced, gazing towards the door across the room.

All eyes turned to the doorway, including those of Hannah and Silus Hunt. Hannah Hunt inhaled sharply at the sight of the two small blond-haired children, her eyes misting as she watched them bound into the room. At his first glance at the woman in Mrs. Barry's parlour, little Henry's eyes lit up in recognition. "Mama!" he called out the greeting excitedly and ran towards Hannah, wrapping his small arms around her legs and hugging tight.

The room came to a shocked standstill. Hannah Hunt, along with everyone else, stood frozen in place, her mouth agape in horror as the full import of the situation hit them all at the same time. Little Henry Miller had mistaken Hannah Hunt for his mother. Yes, there was a strong family resemblance, but of course the adults knew the difference. It was a different scenario for a small child not yet able to fully grasp the concept of death, whose only thought was that the mother he missed had suddenly reappeared. While the adults stood in shocked disbelief, unable to act to right such a horrible misconception, it was Lizzy, little Lizzy Miller, suddenly older and wiser than her years, who took charge of the situation.

"No Henry," she said, coming alongside her brother to gently pry him away from the strange woman's legs. "It's not Mama. Mama's in heaven," Lizzy explained to him with all the omniscience of her seven years. His trust in his sister unassailable, Henry pulled back from the woman, his face however a picture of confusion and disappointment. Lizzy draped an arm protectively around his shoulders as they stood together in quiet expectation, alone and adrift in the room as they waited for the adults to do or say something.

Regaining some of her lost composure, Hannah Hunt crouched low before the children, meeting their eyes in turn. "Your sister's right," she finally said, addressing Henry. "I'm not your Mama. My name is Hannah Hunt. Your Mama was my cousin," she explained. Seeing the still confused expressions of the children, Hannah changed tactics. "Here, I have a picture of your mother. Would you like to see it?" she asked, already reaching into her pocket just as Lizzy and Henry gave slight nods. Withdrawing a faded daggeurotype from the folds of her skirts, Hannah turned it around and held it before the children. "There," she said, pointing to the image of a young woman dressed in a frilly white Victorian day dress, her youthful happy face peering out from the printed page. "That's your mother when she was about 19 years old. And that's me," she pointed to another young woman standing near the first, her face mirroring the same youthful happy optimism. "That's me beside her, when I was 17."

Lizzy and Henry regarded the photograph with interest. Whether or not they recognized the youthful version of their mother was unknown, but it was clear they grasped the fact that Hannah Hunt was connected to their mother. Was connected to them.

"Did my mother send you here?" Lizzy asked, looking up to regard the woman with her innocent question. Lizzy knew her mother was in heaven, and that she wasn't coming back, but just what heaven entailed she wasn't quite certain.

"Well, not directly," Hannah answered slowly, weighing her words. "But I think...," she paused, glancing up at Gilbert Blythe, the young man responsible for her and her husband being here. "I think she had a hand in it," Hannah smiled over the indirect statement and the meaning behind it. Yes, perhaps God wouldn't mind her ascertion that the young man who'd taken the time to seek them out and to bring them to Avonlea had been heaven-sent to them.

"Lizzy, Henry, why don't we show Mrs. Hunt the cookies we made this afternoon?" Diana piped in with the cheerful suggestion. Immediately the children brightened with proud achievement and pulled on Hannah Hunt's arms, one on each side of her. Laughingly, Hannah rose to her feet, allowing herself to be pulled along by the two children. Diana, her parents and Marilla followed behind the happy brigade.

Silus Hunt stood unmoved and watched his wife leave the room with the small children. There was no mistaking his wife's pleasure, the tinge of a happy blush that animated her face, and Silus felt a twist of sorrow in his gut at the picture. Hannah had always loved children, and children had always loved her back. Even if they were always someone else's children, for Hannah and Silus had never been able to have their own. That's just what made this all the more difficult, he thought, his eyes trained on the now vacated doorway through which his wife and the youngsters had disappeared.

"I would do anything for that woman."

"What?" the question came from Gilbert Blythe as both he and Anne Shirley, now the only other occupants of the room, turned to Silus Hunt at his strange proclamation.

Silus Hunt jolted from his musings, embarrassed to find he'd spoken aloud. "I'm sorry, I.....," he started, then decided it was time to be honest. "Hannah wanted so much to come here, to see the children," he explained. "I couldn't say no. I couldn't deny her that. I would do anything for that woman," he repeated his earlier statement. "But this is just going to make it harder," he said regretfully. At Anne and Gilbert's puzzled looks, Silus elaborated, "We can't take the children. We can't afford it."

"But...but....," Anne sputtered in alarmed protest. What did he mean they couldn't take the children? It had all been going so well, she'd felt so good about the couple, and now this.

Silus Hunt was shaking his head in regret. "You've probably noticed we're not exactly well-off," he said, in polite reference to their financial situation. "I've had trouble getting steady work, what with my leg the way it is," he explained, rapping his cane lightly on the floor as he alluded to the past factory-sustained injury which had hampered his employability over the past several years. Suddenly Silus Hunt met Gilbert eyes challengingly. "I ask you Mr. Blythe, man to man, would you knowingly subject your wife and children to a life of penury? Would you do that to them knowing you couldn't provide properly for them?" he asked, pride in his voice even in the public acknowledgement of his reduced circumstances.

The questions put to him man to man, Gilbert shook his head back. "No sir, I wouldn't." It was a man thing between them. An unspoken code of honour.

Anne felt her hopes crumble at the news. It was as if something inside her that had desperately yearned for a happy outcome was now crushed, and she fought the sudden panic that rose up in its place.

"Mr. Hunt, I had intended to bring this up to you later, but it seems like now is the better time," Gilbert said out of the blue, as both Anne and Silus Hunt eyed him questioningly. Reaching into his shirt pocket, Gilbert pulled out a slip of paper. "When we spoke in Charlottetown you told me about how you had once worked in the post office there, before you'd been laid off and then the trouble you've had since because of...well...the trouble you've had since. I hope you don't mind but I....," Gilbert paused over his presumption, then pushed on, "...I took the liberty of sending a telegraph enquiring about the post office here, in Avonlea." Gilbert handed the paper to Mr. Hunt. "If you're agreeable, the town councillors are prepared to offer you the position of Avonlea postmaster."

Stunned, open-mouthed in astonishment, Silus Hunt gazed mutely back at Gilbert Blythe, unable to comprehend the unexpected offering.

"There's a small apartment above the post office, big enough for you and your wife, and the children. It's nothing fancy, mind you," Gilbert warned. "But if you're interested, it would be something to get you back on your feet."

Silus Hunt shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He was like a drowning man who had suddenly been offered a lifeline. "Mr. Blythe...I...I don't know what to say! This is all so incredible!" he exclaimed in amazement.

Gilbert smiled. "Then I take it that's a 'yes'?" he asked.

Silus Hunt drew himself a little taller, his bearing a little prouder. Quietly he extended his hand. Gilbert smiled and reached to shake it.

"Mr. Blythe, you're a good man and I'm proud to know you," Silus Hunt said.

Her eyes swimming with tears of admiration as she watched the scene from nearby, Anne Shirley couldn't have agreed more.


	11. A Kindness Returned

Chapter 11 - A Kindness Returned

"See, everything turned out just fine," Gilbert said, as he and Anne strolled along the laneway.

"Yes, all due to you Gilbert," Anne conceded, a compliment in her voice over his efforts to find Lizzy and Henry a new home. A leaf-laden branch hung down in her path and Anne's cheeks pinkened as Gilbert paused to hold it back for her so she could pass. He was always so thoughtful, she reflected, as she ducked past him. He was always thinking of others, even something as simple as holding a branch out of her way as he walked her home. Not to mention what he had done for Lizzy and Henry, and for Mr. and Mrs. Hunt.

"But it was your idea, Anne," Gilbert returned the compliment, his long stride bringing him abreast of Anne again. "You're the one who instigated it all," he said, remembering how Anne had spoken up in the Barry parlour on behalf of the children.

Anne smiled. "Ah, so I'm the idea person on this team and you do the leg work. Is that how it works, Gilbert?" Anne asked teasingly as they walked on side-by-side.

Gilbert raised a thoughtful brow. "Are we a team, Anne?" he asked slowly, savouring the word with a sudden seriousness in his voice as he stared at the path ahead.

Anne inhaled sharply at the question, flustered over the unintended implication of her remark. "Oh look! The wild roses are in bloom!" she exclaimed, looking over towards a large bush bearing a mass of pink buds, a deft move intended to change the subject.

Her manoeuvre not lost on him, Gilbert followed Anne's gaze and replied quietly, "Yes, the roses are in bloom."

Continuing on their way, the pair grew quiet, each lost in their own thoughts, until Anne noted that they were coming up to the spot. 'The Spot' being the rather impersonal unromantic name Anne had given the place where Gilbert had proposed to her, several months back now. She always felt a little awkward when they passed by the spot, like they were today. But it was hard to avoid it, since Gilbert had proposed alongside the path that was part of the main thoroughfare between Green Gables and pretty much everywhere else. Anne unconsciously sped up a little, hurrying past the exact location of the rather uncomfortable exchange, leaving Gilbert to play a bit of catch-up from his place a few strides behind.

Once clear of the spot and the uneasy memory, Anne peered over at Gilbert out of the corner of her eye. "You're working in Mr. Barry's fields tomorrow, aren't you Gilbert?"

"Yes I am," Gilbert replied, a bit surprised by the question, thinking that his employment pursuits for the summer didn't make for the most interesting topic of discussion. He'd been working at his father's farm, but also the neighbourhood farms as well, trying to earn money for his tuition in the fall. Only now he was going to have to put in some extra hours above even what he'd been working before, if he hoped to make up the time he'd lost travelling to Charlottetown and back.

"So...so, you bring your lunch with you, do you Gilbert?" Anne asked with deceptive casualness. "When you work, I mean," she clarified, embarrassed at her own question, but determined none-the-less to ask it.

Puzzled now by the strange questions, wondering just what Anne was getting at, Gilbert replied, "Yes, I bring my lunch."

"But if you're working in Mr. Barry's potato field then there isn't a stream nearby," Anne observed.

"No, no stream," Gilbert replied, completely baffled now.

"So...there's no place to keep your lunch bottles cool," Anne observed lightly, referring to the age-old practice of storing beverage bottles in a cool stream in the hours before lunch, a practise often used by workmen and schoolchildren.

Gilbert stopped and turned towards Anne. Just what did she mean by all these questions? "No, there's no place to keep anything cool," Gilbert said.

Anne had stopped too. She'd had to, because she couldn't keep walking when Gilbert had stopped. Reluctantly, she turned towards him and met his enquiring gaze before quickly dropping her lashes. For some reason this whole thing made her extremely self-conscious but she was determined to see it through.

"Well Gilbert," she began the explanation, her downward gaze fixated on the tip of his boot. "Well, I just thought...maybe...if you wanted, I could bring you down a lunch from Green Gables. It's not far, you know, from Mr. Barry's field and I don't mind. I'm usually just writing in the morning and I like to take a break at noon anyway...," Anne trailed off with the suggestion. Goodness, she hoped that didn't sound inappropriate or forward. She just wanted to show Gilbert some kindness, some way to thank him for all he'd done of late. Besides, friends helped each other out and it had recently occurred to Anne she'd never helped Gilbert much with anything before.

Anne waited but her suggestion was met only with a length of silence. She looked up, distress in her eyes. "Or, or if you'd rather I didn't...," she hastily amended, her face flustered now over what she was sure was a refusal of her offer. She was mortified now, mortified to have said anything. Why hadn't she just kept her silly idea to herself?

Gilbert forced himself out of his surprised stupor. "Yes...I mean, no, I...," Gilbert quickly strove to reply, confusing the words of acceptance. Anne wanted to bring him lunch? He was ecstatic at the prospect, it was only his surprise at the offer that had elicited his initial silent response. "That would be swell Anne," he went on. "It's hard to bring anything with me and I'd be happy to take you up on your offer."

Anne exhaled in relief. "Well, good then," she smiled, bravely meeting Gilbert's eyes now that the awkward question had been asked and answered in the affirmative. Gilbert smiled back and for a moment they held each other's gaze, simply held it, with no awkwardness or unease. "I'd better go Gilbert," Anne said. "Marilla will be waiting for me. I'll see you tomorrow, around noon?"

"Tomorrow Anne," Gilbert smiled, and watched as Anne turned and lightly drew up her skirts as she sprinted off towards Green Gables. Gilbert watched her until she had disappeared from view and then he too turned towards home. If anyone had come upon him then they would have been surprised to see the smile on his face. They would have been even more surprised if he'd offered an explanation. For the only one he could have given was that the smile on his face only mirrored the one in his heart.

* * *

Author's Note: if you're following along and enjoying the story please leave me a few comments. Thanks (much more romance to come!) 


	12. Picnics and Revelations

Chapter 12 - Picnics and Revelations

"I think it was five orphanages and four families," Anne was saying, her face scrunched up as she tried to produce an accurate count of the number of places she had lived at before coming to Avonlea. She sat on the ground under the sheltering branches of the wide maple tree, her arms wrapped around her knees brought up before her. "Or maybe it was four orphanages and five families," she amended the count, tilting her head as she tried to draw upon the memories. "I can't remember exactly," she said slowly. "There's probably some places I don't even remember," she said, turning to look at Gilbert with that statement.

Gilbert met Anne's glance with his own carefully blank one. He too sat beneath the tree, his back against the trunk and his legs stretched out before him. A picnic napkin lay draped casually across his lap and an empty canning jar was propped against his thigh as he listened to Anne's story. He and Anne had been sharing another noon-time picnic across from the Barry potato field and on this day, like many others before it, Anne had been recounting some of her childhood remembrances. Although the stories weren't always happy ones, for Anne had spent much of her early years in orphanages, Gilbert was careful to always present an unruffled face no matter the depressing tale that Anne revealed. He somehow sensed that she wanted...no _needed_...to talk about her past and that an un-pitying ear was the best thing he could offer her.

The picnics had developed rather informally, first with Anne's offer to bring Gilbert his lunch on that first day. She had only meant to drop the basket off but when Gilbert had invited her to stay and join him while he ate she had agreed. And now it was their daily habit to seek out the refreshing shelter of a nearby tree as they partook of the lunch together. Sometimes Anne ate as well, sometimes she just kept Gilbert company while he ate. The wicker basket Anne brought was filled with goodies from the Green Gables kitchen. She was always mindful to bring a canning jar filled with a cool drink, for Gilbert worked hard in the fields and was sure to be thirsty, and on days when Marilla had baked her famous plum puffs Anne squired away a few, knowing they were always a favourite. And after she had noted Gil's pleasure over her cold fried chicken one time she went to lengths to try to arrange that repast as often as she could. There was usually potato salad, and sandwiches, and all variety of gastronomic pleasures to be found and Anne took secret delight in making the selection as appealing as possible.

When all was readied in the Green Gables kitchen, Anne would hook the basket over her arm near her elbow and set off towards Orchard Slope, to the spot where Gilbert worked in Mr. Barry's potato field. It wasn't a particularly romantic destination, a potato field. Certainly nothing to compare to an elegant dinner at the White Sands, or at any of the refined marble-halled hotels that Anne had read about in books or had conjured in her imagination. But then there was nothing romantic intended about these visits, Anne reminded herself. She was merely helping a friend, a friend who had done her many a kindness and for which she only sought to repay in some small measure. It was strange though. She had sought to repay Gilbert's kindness, and yet in the back of her mind was an awareness that he again was serving a kindness towards her. For upon the return from each encounter Anne marvelled that for some reason she felt lighter inside, as if some unknown weight was slowly being lifted from her shoulders.

It was not until several visits had passed that Anne began to understand the reasons each visit was a boon to her spirits. Over their companionable lunchtime picnics Anne had begun to recount some of her childhood experiences to Gilbert. Ones from before she had come to Avonlea. Stories she had never told anyone, and had kept bottled inside her for a long time. It had really started that day in the forest, when she'd told him her fear about Lizzy and Henry going to an orphanage. He'd asked her then what living in an orphanage was like. That was the first time anyone had ever asked ther that and it was a relief to speak about it then, as it was proving to be now. That she should find relief in unburdening herself in this way was perhaps not a surprise. What was a surprise was that it was Gilbert with whom she found herself most comfortable in the revelations. It had never occured to Anne to recount her stories to Marilla...after all, Marilla--and Matthew--had been the ones to rescue her from her life as a perpetual orphan and Anne recognized and respected Marilla's no-nonsense attitude to life. That practicality determined there was little point in recounting what was already past, like spilled milk on the kitchen floor. And then there was her bosom friend, Diana Barry. Diana was almost _too _sympathetic. Anne had once begun to relate a little story to her and had met with such a mournful expression on her friend's face that she couldn't continue for fear of causing her most bosomest of friends unnecessary grief. No, unburdening herself to Diana hadn't been an option either.

And that left....Gilbert. Gilbert had neither rescued her from her lonely life, nor presented her with an expression of unbearable sadness upon receipt of her tales. He merely listened with neither remarkable nor un-remarkable interest, his matter-of-fact countenance the perfect garden upon which Anne could plant her memories. And such was the situation today, an unexceptional Thursday by any standards as the pair sat in their favourite spot beneath the large maple tree. An unexceptional day, except that maybe the sky blazed a little bluer, the breeze wafted a light lighter.

"And in every family I lived with it seems like the father was always into the drink. I don't know why that was," Anne wondered aloud. "You wouldn't think the orphanage would _deliberately _seek out such a family in which to place a child, but then again, maybe it was the family that sought out a home child. Home children made good workers you know, and there was a bit of monetary compensation for taking one in. Maybe that was the incentive. A family with an intoxicated father could probably have used the extra money," Anne nodded to herself, pleased with her own summation. "It's my opinion, Gilbert Blythe, that an intoxicated man does little good to himself or anyone else," Anne relayed a bit of her own Marilla-like practicality. A natural talker, Anne barely paused for breath before she continued on, "Of course some of the families were worse than others, even considering the intoxication. Take the Parkers. Now Mr. Parker was a mean drunk. There was a lot of broken glasses and bruised faces in that house. Anything and anyone that got in his way during one of his 'spells', well, he wasn't one for patience, I can tell you that."

"And did you, Anne?" Gilbert interrupted with the question.

"Hmm?" Anne looked over, pulled from her memories. "Did I what?"

"Did you get in his way?" Gilbert asked, understanding the subtext of Anne's story.

Anne shrugged lightly in apparent nonchalance. "Yes, I did, a lot of times at first. But after a while I learned how to stay clear," Anne said and then paused. "Well, mostly clear," she amended, as Gilbert swallowed hard at her words, his resolve to remain neutral and unpitying put severely to the test at this latest revelation.

"About a year later the Parkers moved to Halifax to live with the wife's sister and I went back to the orphanage. I was sorry to go," Anne said.

"Sorry to go?" Gilbert sputtered in disbelief. Sorry to leave a family where the father was a drunk who apparently beat his wife and children? Who apparently had beaten Anne herself, and by the sounds of it more than once?

"Why yes, Gilbert," Anne stated matter-of-factly. "The orphanage was always worse than any family I lived with."

"How so Anne?" Gilbert asked the question quietly, trying to comprehend, trying to understand in what way an orphanage could be worse that what Anne had already described to him.

"Because....," Anne paused, her brow wrinkling as she tried to figure out the best way to articulate her meaning. "Because in the orphanage I was always invisible," she finally said, in a tone that implied that that cross had been harder to bear than any ill a family had thrust upon her.

"Invisible?" Gilbert queried, surprised at Anne's strange answer.

Anne nodded. Oh, she knew often complained her red hair made her stand out, but that was in a negative way, especially in the orphanages when a prospective family came to select a child. Seeing her red hair and scrawny frame they usually passed her by. But this was something different. Alone within the walls of the orphanages, Anne had often felt invisible. Trying to explain it now, to explain it to Gilbert so he would understand, Anne reached into her memories and drew out a story to illustrate her point.

"One time all the children in the orphanage went on a special outing to the park. You need to understand Gilbert, this wasn't an everyday occurence," Anne drew on the importance of that fact. "Mostly we just played in the small lot behind the orphanage but this was a special trip, a once-a-year trip. They had wagons to take us there as the park was quite a distance from the asylum. It was beautiful day Gilbert and we children got to play in wide open spaces. I've always loved trees and flowers and....," Anne trailed off, waving her hand about, her eyes softening over the pastoral view. "Well you know me," she admitted her faults wryly, "my mind got to wandering as the day wore on and I don't know quite what happened but suddenly I was alone, Gil. All the others, they were gone. I guess maybe they'd been called back when it was time to leave but I hadn't heard them, or maybe I just hadn't noticed," Anne reflected, confessing a second flaw, that of tuning out the activity around her when she was absorbed in something. "At first I just waited. I thought they'd realize I was missing and come back for me, come looking for me. I waited a long time, Gil. No one came," Anne said, her voice growing quieter, a note of undeniable pain behind her words. "So after a while I just started walking, trying to find my way back. But it was a long way. Remember we had taken a wagon there. After a while, when it had been dark for a long time, I finally came to a street I recognized. I was never so relieved in all my life. I had to pound on the orphanage door to get them to open up for me. It was already locked for the night." Anne met Gilbert's eyes, unconsciously emploring his understanding. "Don't you see, Gil? No one had missed me. I was invisible. No child wants to be invisible," Anne shook her head, acknowledging the universal truth. "When the head mistress heard of what happened and came out to see me, she was angry. She sent me to bed without supper. There was no relief that I'd come back safely, only anger because my dress was soaked through," Anne related softly, looking down as she began to pluck sprouts of grass gently from the ground beside her.

"Your dress was soaked through?" Gilbert repeated, saddened by her story but confounded by the detail, wondering if he had missed something. "How did that happen?"

"It had started to rain while I was out," Anne said, still plucking. "A thunderstorm," she elaborated.

Gilbert inhaled sharply, something emanating from the depths of his eyes in spite of his efforts to appear unmoved. "How old were you? How old were you when this happened?" he asked, almost a demand to know.

Anne shrugged. "I dunno, pretty young I think, five maybe six," she replied.

Gilbert was silent a moment, taking it all in. A little girl lost in a thunderstorm, left on her own to find her way home. She must have been frightened, he realized. Although she hadn't said so, Gilbert realized she must have been frightened. A small child lost in a thunderstorm. It was a heart-breaking tale, all the more so because it had happened to Anne, his Anne. And then he remembered something. He remembered that day in Ruby Gillis's parlour, the day of the garden party when he and Anne had run into the house to escape the storm outside. He'd known then that she was frightened, her visible tremors telling him that the storm outside was upsetting her, but he hadn't known why. With a pit forming in his stomach at the knowledge, Gilbert realized he knew why now.

"So you see, being in the orphanage was always worse than with a family," Anne concluded her story. "Although....," Anne looked up and wrinkled a brow in remembrance. "Although there was one time I felt invisible in a family too," she acknowledged.

"When was that?"

Anne pinkened, suddenly realizing the tales of her youth had monopolized the conversation for quite a while. "Gilbert, are you sure you want to hear all this?" she looked over to ask.

"Of course I do, Anne," Gilbert pretended polite interest. Anne's stories were tearing at his gut but he knew Anne needed to tell them, so he put aside his own feelings and encouraged her on.

"Well, it's not important, really," Anne began. "It was when I lived with the Thompsons, this was after the Parkers and before the Hammonds," Anne placed the story in it's proper chronological context. "It was Christmastime and I had seen a wooden toy figure in one of the store windows. It was a toy Nutcracker, from the ballet. You know the one I mean?" Anne asked. At Gilbert's nod, she continued, "Of course I didn't know it was from a ballet back then. I just knew I liked the little red man, that something about him caught my imagination. So I let it slip to Mrs. Thompson how much I liked the figure, you know, just in case anyone was wondering what to get me for Christmas....," Anne trailed off.

"But you didn't get it," Gilbert made the statement, guessing where Anne's story might be headed.

Anne shook her head. "No, I didn't. But it's not so much I minded not getting the nutcracker, Gil," Anne tried to explain. "It's that I didn't get _anything_. All the children had something to open on Christmas morning, but not me. I was invisible again Gil, just like in the orphanage. I wasn't one of them. I was just the hired help so-to-speak. After that, I learned not to wish for ordinary everyday things. If I ever imagined something it was always something impossibly out of my reach. It was just easier that way. It was easier to wish for things I knew I never would have, than to hope for something that might have been possible, only to be disappointed."

Gilbert took in Anne's latest revelation. So much about her now suddenly made sense. The girl whose mind was filled with flights of imaginative fancy, whose imaginings had begun early on in her life as a way to cope with her unhappy surroundings.

"That's why I'm so grateful to Matthew and Marilla. For all they did for me. I had my first real Christmases with them. My first real presents," Anne smiled at the happy memories, remembering the puffed-sleeved dress Matthew had given her one year.

"Your childhood didn't begin until you came to Avonlea," Gilbert observed.

"What?" Anne turned to him in surprise.

"That's what you said that day in the forest," Gilbert reminded her. "That your childhood only began when you were eleven."

"Yes, yes I guess that's one way to look at it," Anne conceded and then turned to take in a sweep of the view about her. "Oh Gil, I don't want any of this to end! Avonlea is the most wonderful place on earth and I don't want anyone or anything to change!" she rhapsodized her content with the status quo.

Gilbert remained silent at Anne's ferverent proclamation, for he somehow guessed that it indirectly affected him. He remembered his proposal to Anne and her reply that she wanted things to continue on just as they always had. She was happy with things as they were. He supposed that anyone who had only begun their childhood at eleven would not be so anxious to give it up for more adult pursuits at eighteen, including an engagement to marry. It only made sense, he realized, mulling on the snippets of stories he had heard and the small illuminations they gave into Anne's mind and character. Suddenly Gilbert thought of something else and he brightened almost immediately. If Anne Shirley had had a late start on her childhood he could understand her reluctance to accept the proposal of marriage he had made to her just a few short months ago. But all childhoods, even those begun out of their normal sequence, eventually ended. With the first faint flicker of hope he had had in months, Gilbert Blythe suddenly re-evaluated his situation. It was really quite simple, he thought with almost giddy delight. He would wait. He would wait for her. He was nothing if not a patient man, and maybe, in a few years time when she was ready, he would ask his question again.

"Well Anne, I had better get back to work," Gilbert suddenly announced, rising swiftly and reaching his hands to pull a surprised Anne to her feet. As was usual, Anne felt better for the afternoon's unburdening and if she had doubted for a second that her stories were too unsavoury for Gilbert to bear, that they were better kept to herself, this moment removed all doubt. For Gilbert Blythe stood before her, relaxed and untroubled, and grinning from ear to ear.

* * *

Author's Note: thanks so much for all the encouraging comments so far. It really motivates me to keep plugging along! :)


	13. Sour and Sweet

Chapter 13 - Sour and Sweet

With a basket hooked over her arm, Anne walked down to Orchard Slope about a week later to the spot she normally met Gilbert at and was surprised to find herself alone. Well, she supposed she _was_ a little early for their noontime appointment. She set the basket down underneath the tree in the sheltering shade and scanned the vista. But where could Gilbert be? He would have told her if he was working somewhere else today, as he had on the few occasions when he'd gone to work for one of the other neighbours further away, in which case they'd forgone their daily ritual. Anne's brow furrowed. Had she forgotten then? It wouldn't have surprised her. She'd been engrossed in her story-writing all morning and it wouldn't have surprised her if she'd forgotten to remember the change in routine and had merely acted out of habit. And that's just what these picnics were to her now...an easy, comfortable habit.

Deciding she had better look around a little, Anne headed off to the little utility shed at the end of the field. That was pretty much the only place Gilbert _could _be and if he wasn't there then she had definitely mixed up her days and would head home, she thought to herself, for some unidentifiable reason finding herself disappointed at that prospect. No sign of anyone as she approached the backside of the small haphazard structure Anne rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks, inhaling sharply at the sight before her. Gilbert Blythe stood before her, stripped to the waist with his legs braced apart as he leaned forward over a basin of water set upon a waist-high tree stump, splashing water vigorously over his torso and face, the loops of his suspenders hanging in low circles at the side of each thigh. The blood rushing to her face to stain her cheeks a crimson red, Anne turned her back swiftly on the scene, mortified to have interrupted such an intimate display, and took a hasty step away in preparation for an even hastier departure.

"Anne wait!" Gilbert called out, having spotted Anne's unexpected arrival. The command stopped Anne in her tracks but she kept her back to the scene, her body rigid with tension. "I'm sorry Anne. You caught me washing up. I'll only be a moment," Gilbert explained, continuing with his ministrations, reaching for the hand-towel to quickly dry himself off and then expertly swinging a clean shirt over his shoulders and buttoning the front in one smooth uninterrupted progression. He'd always been careful to bring a clean shirt with him and to wash up on the days Anne was coming, but he hadn't expected her to find him so.

"No Gilbert, it's I who should be sorry. I'm a little early today," Anne conceded her error, cursing her own stupidity. She should have known. She should have realized Gilbert washed up before their picnics. He was always neat and clean when they met. What had she thought? That he didn't sweat while he worked? How stupid of her not to realize.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" Gilbert asked the question lightly to Anne's back, filling the awkward gap while he finished dressing.

Anne stared straight ahead and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Yes, a lovely day," she agreed, feeling Gilbert presence behind her as he closed the distance between them. Even with her back to him she could hear and sense his motions and right now he was tucking his shirttails in, she realized, swallowing at the knowledge.

"There, all presentable," Gilbert announced matter-of-factly, drawing the final suspender up over his shoulder and taking a step up next to Anne. Anne cast a quick sideways glance at his shirt, not really needing to verify his words but finding herself doing so just the same, before she turned her attention back towards the other side of the field.

"The basket is up under the maple tree," she said, gesturing the direction.

"Well, let's go then, shall we?" Gilbert said smoothly, taking a step forward.

Carefully averting her gaze, and looking everywhere but at the man beside her, Anne matched Gilbert's steps and together they strode the short distance to the waiting lunch in silence. Anne was still flustered and she didn't quite know why that should be. True, she had never seen Gilbert without his shirt on before, actually, she'd never seen _any_ man without his shirt on before, the proprieties of the day dictating a certain decorum between the sexes be observed at all times. The only people she'd seen partially clothed were children, the ones she'd helped to take care of years ago, and more recently little Lizzy and Henry Miller. But Gilbert Blythe in his half-dressed state little resembled any of those children. Did all men have muscles like that, she wondered, the recent picture of arms and chest and shoulders imprinted vividly in her mind. How very different he was from her, she marvelled, both in size and proportion. Even his arms were different. Each arm bore a few sinewy cords that stood out as they travelled a path from below his elbows to his angular squarish-shaped hands, the overall picture gave off an impression of size and strength, and one very unlike her own body. Unconsciously Anne crossed her hands flat over her stomach, and ran one hand up undernearth her sleeve to feel the contrastingly smooth expanse of her own arm. She had a brief thought, wondering what Gilbert's arms felt like, before she stopped her thoughts altogether and dropped her hands to her sides, blushing at the direction of her ruminations.

As they came up to the maple tree and the picnic basket, Gilbert reached for the nearby blanket and shook it out upon the ground. Complicitly Anne took her usual spot, still averting her eyes, while Gilbert reclined against the base of the tree, his legs stretched out before him. "What did you bring today?" he asked lightly, in a tone of polite pleasantry, as he tried to steer the visit back to its more normal footing. He knew Anne had been embarrassed to come upon him washing up like that. Heck, he was a little embarrassed himself. But he knew it was worse for her. Ever since her recent revelations, Gilbert had begun to think of Anne as younger than her chronological years. Younger, and as someone who perhaps needed to be kept protected and sheltered, with a reassurance of their platonic standing. After all, it was his recent decision to wait several years before he broached anything different on that score because he wanted to give her time, time to outgrow her youthful perceptions. Appearing before her in a half-clothed state was not a situation meant to augment his decision or his plan.

Happy to have some task upon which to direct her focus, Anne began to pull items out of the picnic basket. "Well, I made some lemonade," she said, hoisting out a large canning jar filled with the aforementioned liquid and setting it next to the basket. "And there's some fresh peach cobbler," Anne looked up to gauge Gilbert's reception to that piece of information, but instead she inhaled sharply and looked back down at the basket contents, her face once again flushed and flustered, as she began to wildly pull items out. Gilbert raised a brow of surprise at the strange turn but Anne didn't see it. It's just that she hadn't expected him to look like that. Didn't he know? Didn't he know his hair was still wet and causing random damp tendrils to curl around his face? Or that the hollow of his throat glistened with moisture? Anne sighed. Well, it was _her _fault that he'd been forced to prematurely cease his ministrations so she could hardly blame _him _for his appearance. But it was disconcerting just the same.

"There you go Gil," Anne said quietly when all the food had been unpacked.

"Will you join me, Anne?" Gilbert asked, inviting her to share the lunch with him as he always did.

Anne shook her head this time, declining the offering. She was too....too discombobulated....to eat right then anyway. She wrapped her arms around her knees drawn up before her and stared out onto the field, her body turned slightly away from Gilbert's.

Gilbert eyed Anne's silent form for a moment, then reached for the jar of lemonade, twisting off the lid before tilting his head back to down a gulp. His eyes widened in surprise, but he forced the mouthful down before setting the jar beside him and reaching for a sandwich.

A few moments passed in silence before Anne decided she'd had enough of her own silliness. Just because she'd seen Gilbert without his shirt on, was no reason to act like a silly schoolgirl. She searched for and found a topic of conversation to broach.

"So Gilbert, your family must be very proud of you," she said, turning her head a little to look at him. At Gilbert's questioning look, she elaborated, "Going to medical school and all."

Gilbert shrugged lightly and took another bite of his sandwich. His hair and neck were dry now, Anne noted, and the mundane task of eating a sandwich made the whole picture much more normal-looking. Suddenly, the uneasiness of the past moments vanished and it felt like just another one of their picnics. Turning more fully towards him, Anne persisted, "It's a very noble profession. Becoming a doctor."

Gilbert swallowed his bite, and stared at Anne, reading something behind her words. "Not you too, Anne," he sighed with apparent disappointment.

Anne's eyes widened in surprise. "Me too what?" she asked.

"Not you too with the noble doctor routine," Gilbert clarified. "You have no idea how hard it is when everyone keeps telling you what a noble thing you're doing. People don't understand."

"Understand what, Gil?" Anne asked, wondering at his statement. It was strange, really, she'd always thought being misunderstood was _her_ domain, and it surprised her that someone like Gilbert felt the weight of other people's assumptions.

"I'm not becoming a doctor because it's a noble thing to do," Gilbert stated, meeting Anne's eyes with a revelation or two of his own. "As much as I enjoy working outside and farming in the summertime I know I could never do it for my whole life. Not like Fred, or Charlie, or Moody could. I need to do something more, Anne," Gilbert explained. "Farming isn't enough for me, so you see, becoming a doctor is really a very selfish thing, not noble by any means."

Anne mulled on Gilbert's words for a moment, wondering that she had never questioned him before about his ambitions. Gilbert Blythe was a smart man, she'd known that for a long time, ever since their schooldays. That he wouldn't be satisfied with a life as a farmer didn't surprise her. "But you could have decided on something else, Gil. Something besides farming. Why a doctor?" she asked.

"Well...," Gilbert trailed off, something of a sheepish expression coming over his face. "I like to help," he finally confessed. "It...makes me feel good. Doctoring seemed like a natural fit."

"You like to help?" Anne repeated. Well, she knew that Gilbert often _did _help others, but this was the first inkling she had that he _liked _it, that he got some fulfillment out of it. "And that's not...noble?" Anne teased with a smile, deliberately baiting him.

Gilbert grinned back. "No, it's not. Now let me finish my sandwich," he ordered in mock severity, implying there would be no more questions about either his surplus or deficiency of nobility.

Anne smiled secretly to herself, but sparred Gilbert any more questions. For some reason it pleased her that he had shared this information with her, to know that she was not the only one who sometimes felt misunderstood by others. And, whatever his claims to the opposite, wanting to become a doctor and help others, even if it was for personal fulfillment, _was _a noble undertaking.

"You know Gilbert....," Anne tilted her head upwards as she pretended a fierce contemplation. "I've never understood why doctors call it 'setting up a practice'. Practice. There's no meaning in a word like that. I shouldn't like a doctor who was only 'practicing' on me! I'd want one who actually knew what he was doing!" Anne met Gilbert's eyes, her own wide in mock horror.

Gilbert Blythe's shoulders shook a second or two before the laughter boiled over and erupted from his gut. "And...and just what would you call it then?" he managed to sputter out between the hearty guffaws of his mirth.

"I dunno," Anne waved a hand in the air, her eyes dreamily contemplating the possibilties. "How about 'Dr. Blythe's Healing Emporium'? It would certainly inspire much more confidence in a patient than 'Dr. Blythe's Practice'," Anne asserted with authority. Gilbert smiled over Anne's obvious distaste for the uninspired 'practice' and he began to laugh as he imagined the reaction if he one day hung 'Dr. Blythe's Healing Emporium' on the shingle outside his office. "And 'patient'....what kind of a word is that?" Anne continued on, apparently not the least deterred by Gilbert's laughter. "There's no meaning in a word like that....,"

Gilbert clutched his stomach and laughed, knowing where this was headed. "Don't you dare!" he called over in playful authority to Anne, interrupting her newest attempt to rename the solid, serviceable appellations of his chosen profession, while Anne only laughed at his attempt. It had been fun to rile Gilbert this way, Anne thought, he was such an easy target! Reaching for her hands, Gilbert pulled Anne to her feet, both of them laughing as they faced each other, Gilbert still holding Anne's two hands in his. Slowly the laughter died on their lips, and they stared silently at each other for a second or two before Gilbert released Anne's hands and took a step back away from her.

"I should go," Anne said, staring down at the remnants of their picnic.

"I'll...I'll walk you past the barn, Anne," Gilbert offered, while Anne nodded and bent to begin to pack up the dishes. Spotting Gilbert's half-empty jar of lemonade, she lifted it and offered it to him. "Did you want to finish this?" she asked.

Gilbert nodded and took the offering, stealing himself a little before he downed the contents in one long draw and handed the empty jar back to Anne. Soon the pair were walking side-by-side towards the Barry barn, which at this time was busy with the activity of a few other of the hired hands Mr. Barry had taken on for the summer. Stopping near the barn, Gilbert turned to hand Anne the picnic basket, just as Charlie Sloane came out of the barn's interior, loading a cart of vegetables onto a nearby wagon.

Spotting the pair, Charlie couldn't resist a comment. "Well, well, if it isn't Gilbert Blythe and the little wifey," he mocked the pair, partly out of meanness, partly out of envy. After all, none of the other workers had anyone bringing them a lunch on a daily basis and especially not anyone as pretty as Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe's unfathomable luck was beginning to be a sore spot with Charlie Sloane if not the others.

Anne inhaled sharply at the mocking words, stunned and mortified at the same time. To be teased in such a way! She'd always hated whenever anyone had even assumed Gilbert was her _beau _and this was worse, much, much worse. Two splotches of outraged colour came to her cheeks. Quickly Gilbert turned and stepped in front of Anne, facing her as he blocked her view of Charlie and the handful of other men, who were now watching the scene with interest.

"Will you come by tomorrow, Anne?" Gilbert asked, his voice low between them. Anne looked up to meet his eyes, her cheeks stained with the pink of her moritifcation but her eyes defiant. If Charlie Sloane thought he was going to upset her by his teasing her he had another thought coming!

"Of course I will, Gilbert," Anne replied, her head high and her chin jutting out defiantly.

Gilbert smiled, proud of Anne. "Well, good. I'll see you then," he said, watching as Anne turned and retreated, ignoring Charlie just as she would anyone attempting to torment her. Anne left as swiftly as she could. It was hard to remain dignified and defiant for very long, when what you most wished for was that the ground would swallow you up instead.

Gilbert watched Anne until she rounded a bend and disappeared out of sight. Turning, he took five long deliberate strides over to where Charlie Sloane, a smirk of satisfaction on his face, stood next to the wagon. With one easy motion, Gilbert grabbed Charlie by the front of his shirt and pushed him roughly back against the wall of the barn and held him there, Gilbert's fist clenched tight in the folds of Charlie's shirt.

"Don't you ever do that again." Gilbert's words were low, deceptively low and his face had taken on a dark menacing look as he ruthlessly stared Charlie down.

Suddenly wide-eyed and cognizant of his huge mistake, Charlie sputtered in alarm, his voice filled with placating remorse, "I...I was only teasing Gil!"

Just as quickly as he'd grabbed him the first time, Gilbert released his hold and Charlie slumped against the wall in pitiful comeuppance. Gilbert turned and strode off, back to the fields and the job he was hired to do. The remaining men exchanged wide-eyed glances. They didn't say anything to one another but the scene they'd witnessed had effected the same reaction on them as it had on Charlie Sloane. No man there wanted to be on the receiving end of Gilbert Blythe's displeasure. There was only one clear course of action and none of them would dare to breech it again.

There would be no more teasing of Anne Shirley.

-----------------------------------------------

The screen door banged behind Anne as she entered the back door of Green Gables. She lifted the picnic basket onto the table and began to empty its contents.

"Anne is that you?" a voice called. Anne smiled.

"Yes Marilla!"

Marilla strode into the kitchen, her posture one of unmitigated outrage. "Anne Shirley, what have you done?" she demanded.

"Marilla?" Anne looked up from her task to ask in surprise, wondering what her latest offense could possibly be.

"Rachel Lynde just about died when she took a swig of your lemonade! Why didn't you tell me you hadn't sweetened it yet?" Marilla asked.

Hadn't sweetened it yet! Anne's eyes grew round in recollection. She'd forgotten to put sugar in the lemonade? Now that she thought on it, she _did _remember squeezing the lemons but as for adding the sugar....oh, she knew she'd been too distracted today!

"Oh Marilla, I'm sorry!" Anne was instantly contrite. "I guess I forget," she acknowledged the error.

"Well, don't let it happen again," Marilla instantly softened at Anne's apology. That girl was one for forgetting things and absentmindedness, but Marilla didn't really mind Anne's quirks and foibles. "We'd better not serve Rachel Lynde any more unsweetened lemonade. She's quite sour enough, don't you think?" she asked with a devilish smile, as Anne broke out into laughter at Marilla's sudden wickedness.

"Yes, you're probably right, Marilla," Anne conceded with equal wickedness.

Suddenly Anne's attention was captured by the empty canning jar she had taken from the basket and placed on the table. Gilbert's lemonade. The _same _lemonade as Marilla had served to Rachel Lynde.

"I'd better get back to my sewing," Marilla said, and turned to go.

"But...but...," Anne sputtered to Marilla's retreating back as she pointed to the empty jar, trying to understand. Why hadn't Gilbert mentioned the sour lemonade? Why had he drunk a full jar of what amounted to unsweetened lemon juice without raising a single complaint? Anne stared at the jar with a stunned expression, as if merely willing it would cause the jar to divulge the mysterious secret.

"But what?" Marilla had turned back to ask.

Anne met Marilla's eyes and blinked blankly, slowly taking in what might be the only possible explanation. Was it possible? Was it possible Gilbert hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings by mentioning her failed lemonade?

"Well?" prompted Marilla at Anne's still perplexed expression. "What is it?"

Thinking over the past summer and all she had learned about Gilbert in that time, Anne knew with sudden clarity that she had her answer. Looking up she met Marilla's eyes, her own eyes glowing with an unexpected softness, her words the complete opposite of her feelings.

"It's nothing, Marilla."


	14. Second Storm

Chapter 14 - Second Storm

Marilla Cuthbert stood on the Green Gables front verandah and surveyed the darkening skyline with a worried eye. Anne had recently set out on foot to visit the homestead of old Mr. and Mrs. Diehl, a neighbourly visit she sometimes undertook to check in on the elderly pair, but Marilla doubted Anne would have time to get there before the rain started. And it surely looked like they were in for quite a storm, Marilla thought, eyeing the ominous clouds overhead. Over the years Marilla had come to understand that Anne didn't like storms, thunderstorms in particular. Anne had never relayed exactly why she didn't like storms but Marilla was attuned enough to pick up on the unspoken fear and to take care that Anne was never alone whenever a storm was imminent. Perhaps Marilla wasn't a great one for offering physical comfort but she knew Anne was easier in her mind when other people were around her and so Marilla had always vouchsafed her that at least. But today was a different story. The change in the weather had come up so precipitously and without any real warning. Anne was out alone and on foot, and there was no way to reach her before the storm hit. Marilla knew Anne would not have ventured out today if she'd known of the upcoming conditions, for it had been bright and sunny all week long and this morning promised more of the same. Marilla's brows wrinkled with worry over the situation and a knot of anxiety grew in her belly.

"Goodday, Miss Cuthbert."

Marilla jolted from her thoughts and turned to the voice, surprised to see Gilbert Blythe sitting astride his horse on the piece of lawn just past the far end of the verdandah. Marilla'd been so preoccupied worrying about the weather and Anne she hadn't heard him ride up.

"Gilbert Blythe, what a pleasant surprise," Marilla said, affecting the expected pleasantry, but meaning the words as well. Marilla has always liked young Gilbert Blythe and although she had never told Anne outright it was always her opinion that if Anne were to choose a certain matrimonial path she could find no finer prospect than Gilbert Blythe. And in a reciprocal vein, it was obvious to her and everyone else that the young man in question was hopelessly taken with one Miss Anne Shirley. But Marilla didn't believe in interferring in such things, and so she never spoke of it to Anne. It was Anne's choice whatever her life's path took and Marilla supported her whether it was her decision to marry or not. After all, Marilla herself had survived a life of spinsterhood so she could certainly vouch that it wasn't as grim a prospect as some would lead others to believe, in fact, Marilla was quite proud of her own independence, and she certainly didn't believe in marrying just for marrying sake. It was something every woman, and man, had to decide for themselves.

"What brings you out all this way, Gilbert?" Marilla asked, perhaps a tad slyly. Everyone and their cousin knew what brought Gilbert Blythe out to Green Gables so often, and even Marilla Cuthbert took a secret delight in the teasing question.

"Anne mentioned she wanted to check in on the schoolhouse soon before term started and I though we could go today, if she wanted," Gilbert replied easily, seemingly oblivious to Marilla's sly teasing, or perhaps just more focussed on his own agenda of seeing Anne. Gilbert tilted his head upwards to view the sky. "But by the looks of that sky I think we're in for some rain," he noted, hoping he would be invited inside instead, not just to escape the coming downpour but as a opportunity to visit with Anne.

"Yes, we're in for some rain," Marilla repeated Gilbert's words with a frown, her thoughts once again brought back to Anne's predicament.

"Something wrong, Miss Cuthbert?" Marilla's worried expression had not escaped Gilbert's notice.

"I'm just a little worried about Anne," Marilla replied slowly, as Gilbert perked in sudden alarm. Marilla was worried? About Anne? "She left about a half hour ago for the Diehl place and I doubt she'll get there before the rain starts," Marilla explained. Suddenly Marilla pulled herself back from her worries and remembered herself. "But where are my manners?" she chided herself. "Gilbert, won't you come into the house and shelter from the storm? No use anyone else getting soaked today," Marilla observed with practicality.

But Gilbert hardly heard the suggestion. "Anne's out in this?" Gilbert met Marilla's eyes to ask, his mind zeroed in on that isolated detail, even as the sky grew darker and a low rumble sounded in the distance. "Anne doesn't like storms," Gilbert said aloud, remembering her fear that day at Ruby Gillis' garden party and what she had told him once of being lost in a storm as a child. Marilla met Gilbert's eyes with surprise over his spoken acknowledgement. So he knew it too. Marilla didn't know why she should have been surprised. They both cared about Anne. It was no wonder Gilbert had picked up on something she herself had discovered long ago. Marilla held Gilbert's gaze and slowly nodded her head.

"No, Anne doesn't like storms," she repeated his assessment, a look passing between the pair, a silent acknowledgement of their mutual understanding.

"Miss Cuthbert, I'll see if I can catch her," Gilbert made the sudden decision. "Probably not soon enough to escape the rain, but...but at least she won't be alone," Gilbert explained.

Ah, so he understood that too, Marilla realized, nodding her consent and her gratitude. "Thank you Gilbert," she said, but he had already turned his horse away, digging his heels into its side. Marilla watched his retreating figure with both a worried and thoughtful expression on her face.

Out on the road to the Diehl place, Anne suddenly became aware of the darkening sky and her carefree demeanour was replaced with one of unease. This outing was to have been just a pleasant visit to a neighbour but the change in weather brought new and ominous circumstances. At first Anne merely hastened her steps, hoping to make it to the Diehl place as fast as she could, and hopefully ahead of the rainfall. But when the first low rumbles of thunder began all rational thought deserted her and she turned instead back towards home. It mattered little that she was closer to the Diehl place than to Green Gables; she merely acted on instinct, and that instinct told her to seek the safest refuge she knew-home. When the drops of rain started in earnest, she lifted her skirts and ran, her heart pounding both from exertion and from fear. Oh how she hated storms. She always had. Ever since, since...well, she didn't want to think about that now. Remembering an unhappy childhood incident did little to help her in her current predicament. It was raining harder now, blinding her as she ran. She was already soaked through to the skin and the virulent winds whipped and tore at her clothes.

Suddenly lightning flashed followed seconds later by a loud clap of thunder. Anne hooked one arm in front of her face, shielding herself from the rain and the lightning as she ran onwards, turning a sharp corner to cross-cut her way over the nearby field. Suddenly a flurry of motion in her path startled her and she dropped her arm and cried out. A huge beast was rearing up before her, frightening in itself but doubly so with all the accompanying rain and wind and thunder.

At the unexpected meeting and Anne's cry, Gilbert Blythe reined his horse under control, and slid quickly from its back. He reached Anne in a step or two, and took hold of her arm, his other hand holding his horse's reins.

"Anne, it's me! It's Gilbert!" he shouted to her over the deafening storm. But Anne struggled in his grasp, twisting and turning as she fought him and her panic with equal force. Gilbert pulled her closer, tightening his hold. "Anne, it's me!" he called again, his face mere inches from her own. Suddenly Anne stilled, the familiar voice permeating her frightened senses and she looked up to meet Gilbert's eyes, almost weeping with relief at the features of his familiar face. "Here, come with me. I know a place we can shelter from the rain," Gilbert said, waiting for Anne's nod before he took her hand in his and led her away, his other hand pulling his horse along behind.

It wasn't far to the Turner barn. Well, that is if you could call it a barn. It was a makeshift structure to the say least. Set out by itself at the end of a field, away from any other buildings, its purpose was merely to store the odd bit of hay and farm equipment. Gilbert let go of Anne's hand to pull open the large industrial-sized door just as a clap of thunder sounded. Anne bolted past him into the dim interior while Gilbert led the horse inside and then closed the door behind them. The room was small and lit only by two windows, one each on opposite sides. Smelling some fresh hay, the horse wandered off into a corner to nibble contentedly on the unexpected offering. Anne stood facing the rough-hewn barn wall opposite the door, her arms clasped around herself as she shivered with cold and fright. Gilbert stood behind her, not certain what to do, how to help.

"Marilla will be v-vexed with me," Anne observed in forced lightness, reaching a shaky hand up to unpin and remove her bedraggled and soggy hat, her teeth chattering with cold. "This is the th-third hat I've ruined this s-summer," she relayed the amusing tidbit, woefully acknowledging her sorry luck with hats. "I already lost one at Moody's b-bonfire a few weeks ago. I'm sure I set it down on the bench near the fr-front porch but when I went back it wasn't there. And then there was the one I left on the fence post in the milking pen. D-Dolly make a quick lunch of th-that one," Anne ruefully acknowledged. "And now this one. I'm sure it's s-soaked beyond repair," Anne babbled on aimlessly, hanging the hat on a nearby peg as she rattled on, like she often did when she was nervous or anxious.

Gilbert spotted a blanket hanging on a peg near the one Anne had hung her hat on. It was an old, worn blanket but it looked clean enough. He reached for it and held it open to Anne.

"Anne, you're cold," he said with implied invitation.

Anne nodded at the truth-she WAS cold-and allowed Gilbert to wrap the blanket around her shoulders. She was trying desperately to appear calm and unruffled. The last thing was wanted was to show weakness, especially in front of Gilbert. She thought she was doing a good job of it too, at least she hoped she was.

So it was a surprise to her that when the next bout of lightning and thunder ripped the sky she suddenly found herself in Gilbert's arms. Maybe it was the little cry of alarm she'd unknowingly uttered at the loud noise that had caused Gilbert to pull her into his arms, or maybe she had stepped towards him of her own, albeit unknowing, accord. It had happened so fast the genesis was uncertain. The only certainty was that she now stood pressed close against Gilbert's body, her own body enfolded in his embrace, his strong arms circled about her back, holding her close and her face turned into his chest.

"There, there, Anne. It'll be over soon," Gilbert said, like he was comforting a small child. And remembering the stories Anne had told him of her childhood long ago he knew that in some ways he WAS comforting a small child.

Anne hadn't meant to let something like this happen, to let Gilbert comfort her, but now that he was it just felt so good, so right, that she could not bring herself to pull away. Let whatever shame she must endure come later, for now she would greedily take what was offered.

"Why does it rain like that?" Anne's voice was small as she asked the eternal question.

"Well...there are some who say it's God crying," Gilbert answered, supplying an answer one might give to a small child to soothe away their fears.

"But why is God crying?" the small voice again, muffled into his chest.

"I don't know." Gilbert paused. "Was it something you did?" he asked, just the barest hint of accusatory teasing in his voice.

A small silence followed his question and Gilbert held his breath a moment. Suddenly there was an unladylike snort and a small fist came out of hiding to pummel his chest. "Gilbert Blythe, you take that back!" an affronted Anne rebuked. "God is NOT crying over anything I did!"

"Well, I'm sure he's not crying over anything _I_ did!" Gilbert replied in mock innocence.

Gilbert Blythe was incorrigible! Anne laughed out loud, surprised that she could. She had never laughed during a storm before, the fear had always gotten in the way and it was a strange revelation to her that such a thing was possible.

Gilbert was pleased he had made Anne laugh. The tension he'd felt in her body just a moment ago had suddenly left her and she felt soft and pliant in his arms. The tremors had stopped too. But neither one of them made an attempt to pull away. They merely stood together, Anne's face now turned sideways to Gilbert's chest, Gilbert's arms enfolded across Anne's back as he held her tight. How well she fit him, Gilbert thought. How well her frame fit into his.

Her fear now abated, Anne marvelled that she felt so safe, probably the very last thing she ever felt during a thunderstorm. For maybe the first time in her life she began to listen, really listen to the storm. She'd never listened to one before, the fear had been like a wall before her, shutting out everything else. But she listened now. The rain on the tin roof above them made a melodic pinging sound that was altogether pleasing. From her position she could see out one of the small windows and she could see a large elm tree undulating gracefully in the wind, its branches engaged in a lively and otherwordly dance. The low rumble of the thunder was like a deep orchestral percussion instrument and the occasional flashes of lightning were a theatrical light show, brilliantly highlighting the elm tree's dance. Even the smells were different. The warm earthy smell of the barn, the hay, the cedar slates, and even...even Gilbert. His clothes were wet from the storm as were her own and pressed so close against him she caught his scent, earthy and manly. She could feel his heart beating beneath her ear and it was a comforting sensation. The horse was nearby, his lumbering body a reassuring presence, the sound of his heavy breaths married with the sounds of the storm as he rummaged through the hay and scrapped an occasional hoof onto the hard dirt floor. The whole picture, the rain, the thunder, the lightning, the barn...it was all so wild and primitive and...

"It's beautiful!" Anne said in awe, unaware she'd spoken aloud.

"What?" Gilbert asked, startled by the comment. But Anne didn't reply, not wanting Gilbert to think her a complete idiot. But this was the first time...the first time she'd ever experienced a storm like this, in all it's beauty and glory and she was awed and overcome by it.

They stayed that was for several long moments more, in a deep and companionable silence, until the the thunder grew more distant, the lightning ceased and the rain petered out into just a few random droplets. The sky lightened and a few sunbeams broke through the overhead clouds and streamed to the ground. Anne inhaled at the sight. Another bit of beauty to savour.

They should start back, Gilbert thought to himself, but he was reluctant to end their sojourn. He was reluctant to let Anne go. Slowly he loosened his arms a little and leaned back slightly.

"We should go back now," he said.

Anne heard the suggestion but she didn't move. It was strange, the thought came to her that she should feel ashamed, but she didn't. She should, shouldn't she? Shouldn't she be just a little ashamed for having stood in a barn wrapped in a man's embrace? Try as she might, she could not rouse a single feeling of guilt or shame. Gilbert had done her a great kindness and he had given her a great gift as well. He had come to her during a storm, he had taken away her fear and he had let her experience the beauty of something she'd never been able to know before.

Anne turned her face up to his, struggling to find the right words as she always did when something was very important to her. It was easy to chatter and talk and ramble on about unimportant things, but something like this was hard for her.

"Gilbert, thank you," she finally said, the words were a bare whisper from her lips, both less than she wanted to say and more than she could hope to. Looking down on Anne's upturned face as he held her soft body in his arms, Gilbert Blythe knew at that moment that he was nothing more than mere flesh and blood mortal, tempted by all the wants and desires and weaknesses of the generations of men before him. As he met Anne's eyes, his own travelled a path down to her mouth, so close to his own, so fortuitously presented to him. He only had to bridge the merest of distances to taste her sweetest, and he fought a tortured battle within himself. One side winning out-perhaps it was the gentleman-Gilbert drew his arms away and took a step back.

"We'd better go Anne," he said, and turned away towards his horse.


	15. A Bit of Fun

Chapter 15 - A Bit of Fun

"Oh NO!" Anne Shirley cried in dismay a week later as she and Gilbert stood just inside the schoolhouse doors. She'd been meaning to check in on the schoolhouse before term started in a few weeks and Gilbert had come with her today on that very mission. She'd only come to straighten up a little and prepare the room for the start of school, maybe clean the blackboards and set out the new textbooks. But what greeted her eyes on inspection was worse than anything she could have imagined. "What in tarnation happened!" Anne cried, looking around her in disblief at the disarray about her. Books and papers lay scattered on the floor buried beneath a smattering of broken wood and debris.

Gilbert moved past Anne towards the middle of the room and peered upwards. "That's what happened," he said, drawing Anne's eye upward to the gaping 4 foot hole in the schoolhouse's roof. "The roof must have collapsed during that last rainfall we had," Gilbert surmised.

"But that was over a week ago!" Anne said, her temper flaring. What hadn't the school trustees sent someone check on the building before now? Was it really up to the _teacher_ to ensure the building's structural soundness before term started? "I can't believe this! Less than three weeks before school starts and this!" Anne exclaimed waving her hand down at the mess, continuing her diatribe against the negligent trustees and the low priority they seemed to continually place on the education system. She was always fighting for more books and resources from their stingy coffers, and now there'd be an expensive maintenance repair, made all the worse by its inefficient and untimely execution. "Yikes!" Anne exclaimed, jolting as a bird suddenly flew up from its comfortable spot on on the bookshelves and disappeared out the hole in the roof. It was apparent that some of nature's creatures were taking opportunistic advantage of the unexpected habitational offering. Anne began another tirade at the neglect and injustice.

Gilbert crossed his arms and leaned back against one of the desks, watching Anne as she continued her rant, his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a look of amusement and something else that was decidedly more than mere amusement. There was no doubt Anne was riled up. She had a temper, that one, no doubt about it, as he had learned first hand all those years ago when as a child she'd broken a slate over his head when he'd teased her about her hair. Only now the expression of that temper had a decidedly different effect on him. He couldn't help but notice how animated her features were, how her heightened colour illuminated her face in a most becoming way, how her eyes had darkened and fairly blazed with the fire of her outrage. He didn't suppose he could ever tell her such a thing. Tell her that the way she looked right now did something to him. Stirred something in his blood that had nothing to do with the remembrance of that long ago incident involving a slate, but only served to make him think of things he wanted to do now, things as far removed from childhood pursuits as it was possible to get.

Suddenly Anne whirled on him. "And what are you doing just standing there! DO SOMETHING!" she fairly shouted, her eyes blazing.

Gilbert raised a brow at the command, his mouth twitching all the more with his amusement. With apparent obedience, her uncrossed his arms and straighened, then began to studiously visit each desk, collecting the slates that were neatly assembled on the desktops of each one.

Anne blinked. "What in heavens name are you doing?" she demanded.

Gilbert stopped and looked up, a pile of slates in his hands, and a grin on his face. "Getting the slates out of your reach," he replied.

Anne blinked again, slow realization and remembrance of their childhood incident coming to her. Suddenly her anger evaporated and she laughed out loud. "Gilbert Blythe! You stop that!" she rebuked in mock outrage.

"Well only if you think I'm safe," Gilbert responded with mock doubt, pretending to mull what threat the combination of Anne's anger and the availability of nearby slates posed to his personal health and safety.

"You're safe," Anne laughed. "I promise not to break a slate over your head," she vowed in mock solemnity, enjoying Gilbert's game as much as he.

"Well that's a relief!" Gilbert grinned, and then paused warily. "And the trustees?" he asked, holding the slates closer to his chest as he eyed Anne knowingly out of the corner of his eyes, his brows raised at the prompting.

Anne chuckled. "They're safe too," she sighed the promise in mock forebearance. "Although they deserve a good tongue-lashing, I'll try and restrain myself."

"Good," Gilbert grinned and released the slates onto a nearby desk.

Mulling her behaviour over the past several moments, Anne blushed with remorse. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. I didn't mean..." she started, then stalled, embarrassed now over her previous exhibition. "My temper, it always gets the best of me. I'm sorry...I didn't mean..." she trailed off uncertainly. She hadn't meant for Gilbert to bear the brunt of her outrage over the schoolhouse conditions, it wasn't fair to him. But sometimes when her temper got the best of her she was hard-pressed to keep from showing it.

"That's okay, Anne. I understand," Gilbert said, coming to stand before her. "You're passionate about things," he acknowledged. "We're a lot alike in that respect."

Passionate? Anne eyes widened in surprise. "You? But Gilbert, you never lose your temper," Anne refuted his claim. There was no one more steady and even-mannered than Gilbert Blythe, Anne thought.

"Temper? No, I don't have a temper," Gilbert shook his head with a smile. "My passions take a different direction," he said lightly, but his eyes were suddenly intent, something smouldering darkly in their depths as he stared down at her.

Anne inhaled sharply. Why did he sometimes do that, she wondered. Why did he sometimes say things that made absolutely no sense to her, but only caused a jolt to course through her, accompanied by a quickening of her pulse and her heart slamming wildly against her ribs? Oh, he'd always teased her to a degree, ever since their childhood days, but for some reason over this past summer his playful teasing had taken on some other quality as well. One that left her breathless, confused and feeling totally out of her depth. It was just like when he sometimes touched her, that strange peculiar jolt that went through her. Only this was with words. His words could do that to her too. Quite flustered enough for one day, Anne turned away, bending low to retrieve some of the scattered debris. Gilbert too bent low beside her and began assisting with the clean-up.

"Don't worry Anne, there's plenty of time for the roof to be repaired before school starts," Gilbert reassured her. Bent over her task, Anne nodded at his reasonable conclusion. She really had jumped the gun a little with her tirade. But she'd only reacted spontaneously out of her dismay. "If you like, I can contact the trustees about the repairs and make arrangements just as soon as it's possible," Gilbert offered.

Anne continued with her task, but shook her head. "No Gilbert, I'll let them know. It's more my job than yours," she said, noting as always Gilbert's offer of help. He did say once before that he liked to help, and here he was again, proving it.

They worked on in companionable silence, cleaning up the mess as much was possible that day before heading outside, the pair strolling side-by-side as they headed in the direction of Green Gables.

"Speaking of school, you'll likely be heading off to Dalhousie soon yourself, won't you Gil?" Anne asked lightly. For some reason the prospect of Gilbert's return to medical school in the fall had beeen weighing on her mind of late. She didn't know why that should be so, she'd known all along of his leaving. And as she'd told Diana Barry back in the spring, she would likely miss Gilbert, just as she would miss any friend who was leaving. But somehow, lately those words didn't ring as true now as they did then. Over the intervening months there'd been some small, or maybe not-so-small, change in her perceptions, and Anne had a sudden sinking suspicion that she would miss Gilbert terribly. It was only natural, she tried to rationalize. They'd spent so much time together over the summer, it was only natural that his absence should create a sudden void. That was all it was, she firmly told herself.

But Gilbert hadn't answered her question yet about returning to school. In fact, there had been a long silent pause after she'd asked it. Anne turned her head to regard him. "You'll be going back to Dalhousie soon, won't you Gil?" she repeated, just as the pair rounded a small bend in the road. "Won't you...ACKK" Anne suddenly shrieked and reeled back, a wall of liquid having hit her, an unexpected dousing from a pailful of water. Little Tommy Henderson, the apparent culprit, dropped his pail in shock, his eyes wide at the horrible mistake. Anne blinked in disbelief, her arms spread wide as she looked down at herself. Her dress was soaked from neck to hem with water. She looked up and met the frighened boy's eyes.

"Tommy Henderson!" she practically screeched.

"Miss Shirley! I'm so sorry!" the little boy wailed. "Me and Donny...me and Donny was playing...I didn't know it was you! Honest I didn't!" he wailed over the tragic misidentifcation. How was he to know it was be Miss Shirley coming around that bend just then, when he and Donny had been the only ones out, engaged in the strategic machinations of their water fight.

"Anne," Gilbert's began, his voice was low beside Anne, perhaps feeling some small measure of sympathy for the poor hapless lad.

Anne turned on him. "You stay out of this!" she commanded, her eyes darting fire. Anne turned back to the little boy. "Look what you have done! I'm soaked right through!" she chastised loudly in complaint.

"Yeah, you sure are," Tommy acknowledged, momentarily proud of his accurate aim, before he remembered himself. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was you!" he repeated his apology, imploring for understanding.

Anne sighed loudly in great forebearance. "Well, alright," she ground out the acceptance. "Now get along with you, before I take a switch to you," she threatened. Only too happy to escape with such relative ease, Tommy turned and ran out of sight.

As Anne began to pick away her skirts away from her body in obvious discomfort and distaste, Gilbert couldn't help but chuckle at her side. He'd thought to intervene to spare Tommy from Anne's anger but Anne hadn't let him, and as it turned out he needn't have worried. For all her display of bluster and temper on the outside, she had proved herself of a softer heart inside. She had accepted the boy's apology, albeit none-too-graciously, Gilbert smiled at the recollection. And that threat of a thashing was as empty as her bluster. Anne would no more have taken a switch to Tommy Henderson than he would have.

"And just what are you grinning about?" Anne demanded grumpily, turning on him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously on his happy countenance.

Gilbert tried to wipe the smile from his face. Honestly he did. He even had the momentarily thought that it was in his own best interests if he did, but he just couldn't seem to.

"Ah...nothing," he replied evasively, his lips twitching.

Anne only narrowed her eyes on him even more. This was sure turning out to be one jonah of a day. First the schoolhouse roof and now this. And Gilbert there to witness it all.

"I'd better get you home so you can, um, change," Gilbert suggested, just the merest hint of teasing in his voice.

"Well, you'd best let me go alone then," Anne said, sighing loudly.

"What?" Gilbert asked, surprised by her declaration.

Anne turned more fully to him. "Gilbert Blythe, I don't know if you've noticed this but I have an unlucky history with..." Anne paused and waved down at herself, "...with water. And you always seem to be around when I do. Marilla is beginning to suspect you're the cause and I don't think bringing me home soaked to the skin once again is going to benefit you any."

Gilbert scratched his neck over Anne's strange reasoning. Then again, on the other hand, she had a point. Remembering back in time, he recalled all the occasions. All the occasions of Anne's "unlucky history with water". That day he'd rescued her in the lake when Mr. Barry's dory had sunk, the day she'd tried to get the jersey cow out of the cabbage field and had fallen into the water in her attempts, the day she'd gotten stuck in the mud on her way to pick flowers on the small island, the thunderstorm at Ruby Gillis' garden party and then the storm just last week they'd both been caught in. And now today. Yes, Anne Shirley did have a point about her unlucky history with water. Gilbert smiled and put on a mock heroic front. "Well, Anne, I think I'm brave enough to face Marilla's wrath if you are. Shall we go?" he grinned at her, raising his brows with the question.

"Alright, but I warned you," Anne grumbled low under her breath.

It was a short time later that the pair came up to the Green Gables front steps. The screen door opened squeakily and Marilla appeared on the verandah, her mouth agape.

"Anne Shirley, what have you done?" she exclaimed, for perhaps the thousandth time in the years of their co-habitation.

"I got caught in the cross-fire," Anne explained on a sigh, referring to the boys' water game as she picked at her damp skirts and climbed the verandah steps. At Marilla's blank look, Anne elaborated her misery, "Tommy and Donny Henderson. They were having a water fight. I got caught in the cross-fire."

"Anne Shirley, you do beat all!" Marilla exclaimed, perplexed and confounded by this newest of explanations. "Just how many ways are there to get soaked to the skin anyway?" she shook her head dispairingly.

No longer able to refrain from the conversation, Gilbert smirked and replied, "I don't know how many ways there are, Miss Cuthbert, but I'm sure Anne is determined to discover every one of them."

Suddenly two pairs of female eyes turned as one, both of them eyeing him with a look of askance and silent remonstration. But Gilbert only grinned wider and offered a perfunctory bow. "Goodday, ladies," he said and then turned, hoping make his retreat before the bubble of mirth in his belly erupted fully and he laughed out loud. Over his shoulder he heard Anne's comments as she headed into the house.

"Oh Marilla, this wet dress feels just awful," she wailed over her pitiful condition. "Like I've been wrapped in a dead wet cat."

No longer able to contain himself as he walked down the lane away from Green Gables, Gilbert Blythe threw back his head and let out a roar of hearty laughter.


	16. In The Merchantile

Chapter 16 - In the Merchantile

"Shh, that's him!" Diana Barry hissed as she jabbed her arm into Anne Shirley's side in warning, curtailing their unguarded conversation. Anne raised her head, looking over the bolts of fabric she'd been inspecting to follow the direction of her friend's gaze. There on the opposite side of the merchantile stood a young man, very tall with sandy-coloured hair, wearing a tailored dark business suit the likes of which was rarely seen in the confines of their small town. "He's come all the way from Halifax," Diana whispered out of the side of her mouth. "His family is involved in the largest bank there but his father is making him work his way up in the company before taking over. That's why he's working here at the Avonlea branch," Diana filled in the backstory as she had deciphered it from the rampant gossip. Not that Avonlea had much of a bank branch, just one teller, and now this new manager.

Anne eyed Avonlea's newest resident. Yes, he was pretty much as Diana had described him earlier, she thought. Arthur Nathaniel Richardson III. His impressive name certainly matched his regal stature and demeanour.

"Don't you think he's handsome?" Diana asked conspiratorially, casting surreptitous glances across the room over the bolts of fabric, her inquisitiveness not to be denied as she watched the young man being waited upon by the shopkeeper.

"Yes, I suppose he is handsome," Anne conceded, her own curiousity appeased with the brief inspection as she turned her attention back to sorting through the bolts of material. She and Diana were in town to pick out material for new dresses for the White Sands ball that was less than two weeks away.

"You suppose he is!" Diana exclaimed in hushed tones. "Why, half the girls in town are trying to get him to notice them, and the other half will be too once they know he's here," Diana stated emphatically. Diana was always up on the most current Avonlea news so it was not surprising she knew about the newest resident even before some of the town's regular inhabitants. Diana cast her friend a sly glance from under her lashes. "But then I have Fred and you have Gil, and what man could compare to them?" she asked lightly, waiting to gauge her friend's reaction to her bold statement, waiting really for Anne's expected denial that she and Gil were a couple.

But Anne didn't look up. She merely blushed a little and delved deeper into the fabric. "This organdy is nice, don't you think?" she asked.

Diana raised a brow in surprise. In all the times she'd questioned Anne about her status with Gilbert Blythe, either directly or indirectly as she was now, this was the first time Anne hadn't denied the association. She hadn't confirmed it either, but it was telling in itself that she hadn't denied it. Diana tried again. "Yes the organdy is lovely. I'm sure Gilbert will like it too," she tacked on slyly.

Anne's blush deepened. She knew that Diana was waiting for her to say something. Waiting, most likely, for her to reply that Gilbert was NOT hers, and that she didn't care what he thought of her new dress. But for reasons she couldn't completely decipher at this point, Anne did not feel inclined to challenge Diana's statements. In truth, she hadn't felt so inclined for quite a while now but she'd gone on making the denials just the same whenever anyone had made such a presumption. But maybe it was the fact that it was her dearest friend Diana who was now making the prodding statements. It was easy enough to issue not-entirely-truthful denials when it was someone of lesser importance but Anne knew she could never lie to Diana. But the things Diana said weren't entirely true either. She'd turned down Gilbert's springtime proposal of marriage and it wasn't likely he would ever ask her again after that. In his mind they were now just good friends. Isn't that what she'd always insisted upon? But in the intervening months since his proposal Gilbert had become very important to her. A good friend, yes. But...but something else too. Anne shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn't answer Diana because she didn't know what to say. Gilbert wasn't "hers" but he WAS very important to her, and growing moreso each day.

"Marilla always says organdy suits me," Anne replied instead.

Diana Barry smiled, almost gloating in triumph. She'd just made TWO references to Gilbert, and Anne had denied neither one. It might be just a small thing but Diana knew it was significant. She was almost giddy with delight; Anne was her dearest friend and Gilbert Blythe was her perfect match. She herself was experiencing all the joy and happiness that being in love could bring. She was sure Fred Wright was on the verge of proposing and knowing her friend would maybe soon follow along that blissful path brought her nothing but joy.

"Speaking of Gilbert, where is he today?" Diana asked, pushing her luck with THREE references.

Without conscious thought, Anne replied, "He's likely over at the Smythe's place helping with the barn-raising."

"Likely?" Diana asked, her brow knotting over the indefinite answer.

Anne looked up and blinked, wondering herself at her own assumption of Gilbert's whereabouts. "I mean..." she stammered. "I mean...I don't know for sure that he's there. I just...I just think he might be," Anne explained lamely. Anne knew Gilbert liked to help out-hadn't he told her that on one of their picnics? Hadn't he demonstrated his helpfulness time and time again, both to her and others? It was her knowledge of that particular trait of Gilbert's that had led her to her conclusion of where he'd be today and what he'd be doing. He hadn't told her he was going; she just knew that if help was needed somewhere it was likely Gilbert would be there.

Diana eyed her friend with interest. "Now that you mention it, I seem to remember Fred saying he and Gilbert and few others were heading over there today," Diana said, her expression growing thoughtful. "But you already knew Gilbert would be there," she said, her statement challenging for a more complete explanation.

Anne shrugged lightly, her blush intensifying as she tried to dismiss the importance of Diana's observation. Just because she knew Gilbert well enough to surmise something like that, well, that didn't mean anything, did it? "Have you decided on your material?" she asked Diana instead, steering the conversation back to more mundane matters.

Turning her attention to the fabric before her, Diana Barry hid a secret smile, deciding she'd prodded and probed enough for one day and she was more than satisfied with the information she'd gleaned.

Across the room, new resident Arthur Nathaniel Richardson III was making a few surreptitious glances of his own. He'd spotted the two young women upon his entrance to the store and he continued to cast them brief glances throughout his business with the shopkeeper. Perhaps Avonlea wasn't to be such a dreary assignment after all, he thought. At first he'd cursed his father's insistence that he pay his corporate dues by working in such a provincial little hick town, the flashier and livelier surroundings of the big city more to his liking, but perhaps the town's charms weren't to be as scarce as he'd initially supposed. He eyed the two women across the way. Not when such attractive women populated his surroundings. And in particular the one he now was focussed on, her fiery red hair highlighting a singularly attractive face and trim figure. Arthur Richardson smiled. Yes, his prospects in Avonlea didn't look quite so glum anymore.


	17. On the Green Gables Verandah

Chapter 17

"Check!" Anne Shirley gloated gleefully, raising her head from the chess board and flashing a self-serving grin of accomplishment Gilbert Blythe's way.

"Not so fast, Miss Anne-girl," Gilbert replied, not looking up from the board between them as he studied his options. Anne Shirley played chess like she did everything else-with an eye to winning, but since she'd already won the last game Gilbert was not about to let her repeat the performance. Sitting on the front verandah of Green Gables on this fine Sunday afternoon, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully then moved his knight, thwarting Anne's attempts to conquer his king. "I think that should remedy matters," he remarked, grinning as he raised his head and wiggled his brows playfully at her, moving his hand back to his thigh without conscious thought. Flinching at the contact between his palm and the material of his trousers, he instead closed his hand into the small loose fist he'd been careful to use all afternoon but had forgotten momentarily.

"Gil, what's the matter?" Anne hadn't missed the flinch or the brief telling expression of discomfort on Gilbert's face.

"Nothing," Gilbert replied dismissively.

"It is too something!" Anne disputed, as she regarded him. Did he think she was oblivious to his expressions? He'd flinched there for just a second, she'd seen it. "Is there something wrong with your hand?" she asked, pointing to his fist, noting how the flinch and his hand movement had coincided. Gilbert shook his head in the negative but Anne persisted. "Let me see your hand," she commanded, determined to discover the truth.

"Anne, it's nothing," Gilbert repeated and meaning it too. It was just a trifling injury, a few blisters, nothing of consequence to bother with. But Gilbert's evasiveness only made Anne more determined to discover what he was hiding.

"Well, if it's nothing, let me see it," she countered.

"Can't we get back to the game? It's your move," Gilbert tried to redirect Anne's attention.

At Gilbert's uncooperativeness, Anne hesitated for just the merest of seconds before reaching across the playing table for his hand, surprising Gilbert with the unexpected move. His surprise forestalling any resistance, she pulled his hand towards her, ignoring the small jolt that coursed through her the moment their hands had touched, and gently pried the fist open for inspection. "Gilbert! What have you done to your hand!" she cried, alarmed at the sight before her. Gilbert's palm was a mass of blisters, red and raw and very painful-looking.

Gilbert shrugged dismissively and tried to retrieve his hand, but Anne griped his wrist, her eyes boring into his, demanding a reply. Didn't she know how her touch affected him, he wondered, how that innocent touch drove him to distraction? No, he didn't suppose she did. Gilbert sighed. He might as well answer her question and end the sweet torture her touch inflicted upon him. "I guess I overdid it in the fields yesterday," he explained his work-injured hand sheepishly. "But it's nothing," he repeated, dismissing the injury.

Anne eyed him with an exasperated expression. She knew Gilbert had been doing a lot of farm work this summer, and also putting in a lot of overtime to make up the time he'd spent in Charlottetown tracking down the relatives of Lizzy and Henry Miller, but she didn't like that he was hurting himself in the process. And Gilbert of all people! A doctor-in-training! He should know better, shouldn't he? "Stay here," Anne commanded, releasing his hand and rising. Gilbert made to stand as well, the normal polite mannerism of a gentleman reacting to a lady's departure, but Anne would have none of it. "I said stay there!" she commanded in an authoritative tone, her finger pointing downwards to his chair.

As the screen door slammed following Anne's entrance into the house, Gilbert sank back into his chair with somewhat of a bemused expression on his face. Oh, she was a bossy bit of business, that one. She was bossy and tempermental and spirited...and...and lovely. Sobering a little, Gilbert shook his head at the direction of his thoughts. Yes, Anne was lovely but he didin't need to be thinking about that just now. With great effort he forcibly turned his mind to more mundane ruminations.

A scant moment or two later the screen door squeaked open with the push of a shoulder and Anne emerged, a small basin of water in one hand, a cloth and a vial of ointment in the other. She set the items down on the table next to the chess board and drew her chair over close to Gilbert's side.

"Let me see your hand," she commanded for the second time, sitting down in her chair and opening the vial of ointment.

Gilbert knew there'd be no arguing with her. Anne obviously meant to tend his sore hand and her determination was evident in her tone. Gilbert sighed and reluctantly relinquished his hand to her ministrations, turning it palm up as he held it out to her. Anne cupped his hand in one of hers, then reached for the cloth, dipping it in the water and squeezing out the excess, before dabbing his palm with the gentlest of touches. Gilbert watched Anne as she tended him, her head bent over the task, her concentration fierce. She clucked and tsked over his carelessness in acquiring the blisters, fussing over him and Gilbert was surprised to find he didn't mind the fussing at all. They sat very close together, so close that their knees grazed each other's and he could smell Anne's hair, the faint unmistakable scent of lilacs permeating the air. No, he didn't mind this at all, he thought. Having Anne here beside him so close like this, tending him with her gentle ministrations, was worth the price of a few blisters, even if it was tantamount to sweet torture.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Anne asked, not looking up from her task.

"No," Gilbert replied, swallowing hard, having long ago forgotten about his hand, his mind now disturbingly occupied with other thoughts.

"Good," Anne remarked, discarding the cloth and dipping two fingers into the ointment. Carefully she smoothed the cream onto Gilbert's palm, her touch featherlight as she applied the ointment with small circular strokes until the process was complete and she was satisfied with her workmanship.

"There, all done. But you must promise to be more careful, Gil," Anne rebuked gently, raising her head and meeting Gilbert's eyes with her concern.

"Why? Are you worried about me Anne?" Gilbert asked teasingly with a smile, hoping to inject some levity that would distract his thoughts away from where they'd been.

Anne's expression grew thoughtful as she regarded him solemnly for a moment and pondered the question in all seriousness. "I don't want to see you hurt, Gilbert," she admitted quietly. "You mean a lot to me." How easily the truth had tumbled freely from her lips, Anne thought. And it WAS true. Gilbert DID mean a lot to her. The only surprise was that it had been so easy to say it aloud.

Gilbert sat frozen, momentarily stunned by Anne's answer and the caring and concern he read in her eyes. Had Anne Shirley just said he meant a lot to her? Gilbert held Anne's gaze, trying to read her, try to ascertain the meaning behind the simple sentence. Anne held Gilbert's gaze without flinching, nor did she look away. All grew quiet and still between them. Neither one moved, nor made an attempt to move, they merely stared at each other, time standing still as they sat close together, Anne's hand still cupping one of Gilbert's.

Suddenly Anne jolted when she heard her name being called. "That's Diana," she said aloud, pulling her hand away, the mesmeric spell from seconds ago now broken. Gilbert reached his other hand out to Anne's arm, halting her as she made to rise. Anne turned to look back at him.

"Thank you, Anne," he said quietly, relaying his appreciation for her ministrations, and maybe for something else as well, he didn't know. Anne nodded, then turned away and rose to her feet.

* * *

"I'm telling you it's true," Diana repeated an hour or so later after Gilbert had left and it was just her and Anne settled cozily on the front verandah. "Fred had it straight from Moody who got it from Gilbert himself," Diana co-oberated her story.

Anne shook her head in disbelief. Was it possible? But why hadn't Gilbert told HER? They'd chummed around all summer long together but he'd never said a word to her about it. She'd even asked him just last week about it but he hadn't said anything then.

"Fred said that if Gilbert's father doesn't get the mortgage Gilbert's going to give him his medical school money," Diana continued.

Anne tried to take it all in. The fact that Gilbert's father's farm was in financial jeopardy, that it was possible Gilbert wouldn't be able to return to school.

"The bank's turned them down twice already," Diana said. "So it looks like Gilbert will go through with his plan. But Anne, it would be hard to give up so much, don't you think?"

Anne grew thoughtful. Gilbert giving up his medical school money for someone else? Diana didn't know Gil as well as she did. It wasn't UNLIKE him to do such a thing, in fact it was quite LIKE him, Anne thought. He was always helping other people out, his own family would be no exception.

"But Diana, this is just horrible!" Anne decried. "Gilbert HAS to go back to school!" she wailed, thinking back to their summertime picnic conversations. Gilbert had said then that he wouldn't be happy with life as a farmer, that he had higher ambitions, and that medical school was the one selfish thing he was doing for himself. As the summer progressed and it had grown closer to the time Gilbert was to leave for school Anne had found herself growing more and more miserable at the prospect. Much as she hadn't wanted to admit it, even to herself, the thought of Gilbert leaving was a misery. But this sudden news was worse. Anne found herself even MORE miserable at the idea that Gilbert would not return to school! Anne shook her head at the confusing paradox. First she'd been miserable that Gilbert was leaving, and now she was miserable that he wasn't! It made no sense at all.

"But Diana, there must be SOMETHING that can be done!" Anne exclaimed.

Diana shrugged. "I guess the only thing is if the bank changed its mind and they got the loan. I don't see any other way out of it."

Anne tilted her head thoughtfully. The bank. There was that new manager now. Arthur Richardson. Anne had met him on a few occasions already, and although she couldn't say she DISLIKED him, she couldn't really say she liked him either. Although Anne had sensed some interest on his part towards her, she had found him to be on the pretentious side and so had declined his invitation to escort her to Moody's clambake. She'd gone with a group of her friends instead, Gilbert among them. Anne wondered if Gilbert's father had tried to obtain a mortgage through the new manager. It was worth a try, wasn't it? But she could hardly ask Gilbert about his father's financial moves, after all Gilbert hadn't even told her about the problem in the first place. Anne chewed her lip thoughtfully.

No, she'd have to investigate on her own.


	18. The White Sands Ball

Chapter 18

Arthur Nathaniel Richardson III almost laughed out loud at his good fortune. The good fortune that had brought Anne Shirley into his bank office this morning. He'd had his eye on the attractive woman since his arrival in Avonlea but all his attempts to ingratiate himself with her had so far failed. She'd refused his invitation to the local clambake and her overt disinterest in him had only intensified his own interest in her. Arthur Richardson was used to getting what he wanted and right now what he wanted was Anne Shirley. That her business with the bank this morning was of a strange nature only worked to his benefit.

"So Miss Shirley, let me see if I understand this correctly. You're not here to discuss a mortgage on Green Gables, you're enquiring about a neighbour's property...the Blythe farm? Is that correct?" Arthur asked, fixing the young woman with a carefully manufactured perplexed look.

Anne Shirley squirmed uncomfortably in the chair in the bank manager's office, suddenly feeling very foolish, her face pinkening at the bank manager's question. "Yes, that's correct," she mustered her courage to verify.

"Miss Shirley, I have to tell you this is highly irregular. It is not the bank's custom to give out financial information about it's clientele to those not directly involved," Arthur explained.

"I know that Mr. Richardson. I'm not here to...to...," Anne faltered. Just WHY she was here wasn't exactly clear in her own mind. Perhaps it was silly of her to have come here at all. She'd only thought to help, only she wasn't sure just what form that 'help' would take.

Arthur Richardson eyed the young woman across his desk, mulling certain possibilities in his own mind. "Perhaps...," he began. "Perhaps you're here to offer a character reference for the Blythes, is that it?"

Anne Shirley blinked, her eyes lighting up at the suggestion. "Yes! Yes, I can do that!" she replied enthusiastically. She would do anything if it would help Gilbert's father secure his loan and allow Gilbert to go back to school. "I've known the Blythes for as long as I've lived in Avonlea. I went to school with their son and there's not a finer family you'll find around these parts. I can guarantee you that," Anne made the positive endorsement.

"Miss Shirley, your high opinion notwithstanding, I hope you can understand my position. The Blythes have not named you as a character reference. For me to be discussing this with you formally like this violates bank protocol," Arthur said in a tone of practised regret.

"Oh," Anne said dejectedly, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.

"But...," Arthur trailed off enticingly, tilting his head in a thoughtful manner.

"Yes, but?" Anne looked up hopefully.

Arthur leaned forward in his chair. "But there's nothing to prevent your giving me a recommendation OUTSIDE of the bank," he suggested smoothly, "say in a social setting." At Anne's confused look he continued, "The bank considers all sources of information when it makes its decisions and anything I might hear within the community itself about potential clients could be relayed to head office. I would certainly be willing to do that."

"Mr. Richardson, I would be eternally grateful if you would," Anne expelled her breath in relief, pleased that maybe some good would come of her visit after all.

"Good. Shall we make it the White Sands Ball?" Arthur asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Anne blinked in confusion.

Arthur Richardson smiled indulgently. "The social setting. For you to tell me about the Blythes," he prompted. "The White Sands Ball is on Friday night. That would seem to be the ideal occasion. Shall I pick you up around seven?"

"Oh, y-yes, yes, that would be fine," Anne stammered acceptance of the invitation. It had happened all so fast she'd hardly had time to even consider it. But it was just one ball, Anne told herself. Certainly it would not inconvenience her to attend one ball with Mr. Richardson if some good were to come of it.

"Fine, until then," Arthur Richardson rose and extended his hand.

Anne rose as well and shook the entended hand.

"Goodday, Miss Shirley," Arthur said with smooth solicitiousness.

"Goodday, Mr. Richardson," Anne replied, nodding her head before turning from the room.

Arthur Richardson watched Anne Shirley through the glass windows of his office walls as she made her way out of the bank. It was not until she was out of sight that he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.

-

"Hey Anne, wait up!" Gilbert Blythe called to Anne Shirley as he spotted her walking briskly along Avonlea's wooden plank sidewalks. But Anne didn't slow, perhaps she hadn't heard him, Gilbert thought, and he had to run to catch up with her. He pulled on her elbow when he reached her.

Anne flinched at the touch. The familiar touch that always seemed to jolt her senses. Briefly she turned to him. "Gilbert, I'm in a hurry," she said, resuming her pace, Gilbert now alongside her, his long strides easily keeping pace with her shorter, faster ones. But Anne didn't want to talk to him just now. Not after she'd just accepted an invitation from another man to the White Sands Ball. Not that Gilbert was to have been her official escort, but she knew that he expected her to attend and that they would go as a group-Gilbert, Fred, Diana and herself. Why she should feel so guilty for accepting another invitation was beyond her. But guilt she felt, and she was uncomfortable now in Gilbert's presence.

"Yes, I can see you're in a hurry," Gilbert laughed, teasing Anne over her brisk pace. "I won't keep you long. I just wanted to remind you about Friday night and the White Sands Ball."

Oh drat! Anne almost grimaced. The one thing she DIDN'T want to talk about!

"Fred and I will pick up Diana first and then we'll come by Green Gables for you. Sound okay?" Gilbert asked.

Anne felt a blush creep up and stain her cheeks. "Well actually Gil, I don't need a ride to the ball after all," she began evasively.

"Oh? Aren't you going?" Gilbert asked in surprise. He knew that both Anne and Diana had been busy making new dresses and for Anne to decide not to go at this point would be unusual.

"Yes, I'm going. But I don't need a ride," Anne rushed out the words breathlessly, turning her head towards the building on her right. "Oh, here's the post office. I promised Marilla I'd pick up the mail. Good-bye Gil!" she said, rushing away from his side and ducking through the post office doors.

Left out on the sidewalk alone, Gilbert Blythe came to a standstill, his eyes on the now-closed doors of the post office, his brow furrowed in puzzlement and disappointment.

-

It was equally uncomfortable when Anne revealed the change in plans to Diana Barry when they met up later that day. Diana fixed Anne with a confused look over her cup of tea.

"If you don't need a ride to the ball, then how are you getting there?" Diana asked, setting the cup into her saucer. "You're not going by yourself are you? You know Marilla doesn't like you out driving the carriage by yourself at night!" Diana was scandalized at the very idea.

"No, I have another ride," Anne replied evasively.

"Another ride?" Diana asked, narrowing her gaze. "Anne Shirley, are you going to tell me what's up or am I going to have to pry it out of you?" Diana demanded, setting her cup and saucer on the table before them before turning to glare at her friend.

Anne sighed, feigning resignation. "I have another ride. I'm going with...with Arthur Richardson."

"Arthur Richardson!" Diana exclaimed. "But what about..." Diana stopped herself. She'd almost said 'what about Gilbert?' before remembering the precarious status of that relationship. Anne had never said officially that she and Gilbert were a couple, Diana had made her own observations and assumptions about that. Could it be she was wrong?

"Yes, Arthur Richardson. He asked me and I accepted," Anne gave a cryptic summary.

Diana mulled this piece of information. "Well I suppose Arthur Richardson does match your ideal," she said doubtfully.

"What?" Anne raised her brow with the question.

"Arthur Richardson. He does match the romantic ideal you've always talked about. Like in your stories, you know." At Anne's blank look, Diana elaborated, "Averil's Atonement. The story you're writing. Arthur Richardson is a bit like your Percival, isn't he?"

Her story? Anne wondered at the connection. Why she hadn't touched that story in months. For some reason it no longer appealed to her, the plot and characters seeming like so much contrived silliness. She'd still been writing but she'd been working on another story, one very much different from the first. Anne shrugged. "I don't know," she said, not inclined to reveal her true motives for accepting Arthur Richardson's invitation. If Diana assumed it was because of some romantic interest, well, maybe that was just easier than explaining it all. Because if she explained it all, she'd have to say why, and if she said why she'd have to tell Diana the truth. And the truth wasn't something she was ready to admit yet, not to Diana and not to herself.

"Anne, are you sure about this?" Diana asked, eyeing her friend worriedly.

"Diana, don't worry! I know what I'm doing," Anne said reassuringly and smiled. "Now show me your new dress," she said, smoothly changing the topic of conversation.

-

If Gilbert Blythe was ever to list the most painful moments of his life, surely the one when Anne Shirley entered the ballroom of the White Sands hotel on the arm of Arthur Richardson could be counted high on the list. Gilbert stood on the opposite side of the room with his suitcoat open and his hands in his pockets, leaning a shoulder against a pillar. His eyes had narrowed on the couple when they entered the room but he showed no other visible signs of any reaction to their appearance. On the outside, that is. On the inside, Gilbert's mind and emotions were in a turmoil.

Oh, she was beautiful tonight, he thought. Standing there in her organdy dress, her hair swept up elegantly onto her head, exposing the creamy smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, the dress cinched tightly at her trim waist and then flairing in frothy swirls to the floor. She was cool and elegant and utterly charming. No woman had a right to look so lovely, Gilbert thought, his expression giving way to a decided scowl as he fought the jealous emotions that burned like fire in his belly at the sight of Anne with another man. He'd known she was coming with someone else-he'd heard about it in the days following that day at the post office when she'd told him she didn't need a ride. The town gossips were more than willing to fill him in on the potential new pairing of Anne Shirley and the town's bank manager. He didn't know why he'd even come to the ball anyway. To torture himself? Because if that was it, then he'd certainly accomplished his goal.

Across the room, Anne Shirley, her hand wedged in the crook of Arthur Richardson's elbow, scanned the room upon their entrance. It was an elegant affair, the White Sands ball, with handsomely attired guests, a six-piece orchestra in the corner and a long white-clothed table loaded with refreshments. Suddenly Anne's eyes met those of Gilbert Blythe's across the room. He acknowledged her with a curt nod, a sardonic expression on his face, but Anne blushed and looked quickly away. Oh how she wished this evening were over already. She felt decidedly uncomfortable, like she wasn't herself, and she couldn't wait for tomorrow when everything would be back as it should be. But until then, there was still tonight to get through.

"Miss Shirley, may I have this dance?" the question came from Arthur Richardson at her side. He smiled solicitiously down at her.

Anne nodded her head and allowed herself to be swept into his arms for the waltz. Arthur Richardson proved to be as smooth a dancer as he was at everything else he did, although Anne found he held her just a bit too close, with a bit too much familiarity, for comfort. Her overall impressions of him had not changed from those she'd generated upon first meeting him. He was overly smooth and overly pretentious. Oh how she longed for the easy comraderie with Diana and her other friends, Gilbert among them. She'd be laughing and joking by now instead of enduring the stuffy attentions of the humourless and pendantic Mr. Richardson. He hadn't even let her talk about the Blythes yet, so she could give them a glowing recommendation, which after all had been her main objective of the evening. He kept putting her off, saying there was plenty of time for that yet and to enjoy the evening first. Anne sighed, then plastered on an expression of polite enjoyment for the rest of the dance.

Across the room Diana Barry approached Gilbert Blythe's side and followed his gaze across to the room as he watched Anne and Arthur Richardson dancing. "Gilbert?" she said when she was at his side, then watched him jolt from his attentions and turn to her.

"Diana! How lovely you look tonight!" Gilbert smiled the compliment, forcing his thoughts away from Anne.

But Diana only stared back at him with a mournful expression on her face, like one finely attuned to the emotions and hurts of someone else. "Gil, I don't know what she's doing," Diana said in a low voice.

Gilbert raised a brow. So Diana had noticed his preoccupation with Anne and her escort. Feigning incomprehension Gilbert replied, "I don't know what you mean."

"Anne," Diana clarified the unnecessary. "I don't know what she's doing here with him. I know she cares about you Gil. I know it," Diana told him, for once revealing what she had gleaned from her own observations about Anne and especially from that day in the merchantile when Anne hadn't denied any of Diana's references to Gilbert as her beau.

"Oh, I know she cares about me, Diana. She told me that herself," Gilbert's tone was hollow and bitter. Yes, Anne had told him he 'meant a lot to her'-he still remembered it clearly that day on the Green Gables verandah when she'd tended his hand-only now he knew what she meant. She cared about him _as a friend_, and nothing more. He'd been a fool. A fool with his foolish notions of waiting for Anne, until she was ready for him. Only in all his plans and dreams he hadn't counted on one thing. He hadn't counted on Anne not waiting for him.

"If you'll excuse me Diana, I think I'll leave now. I've seen enough for tonight," Gilbert said, his eyes once again drawn to the couple on the dance floor before he forced his eyes back to Diana. "Say hello to Fred for me, will you?" Gilbert said, forcing a smile as he squeezed Diana's hand then turned away and strode from the room.

"Gilbert..." Diana trailed his name off forlornly to his retreating back, feeling helpless and torn as she watched one friend leave in pain, another friend the cause.

-

"It's too noisy to talk in here. Let's go out onto the verandah, shall we?" Arthur Richardson suggested to Anne Shirley a short time later.

"Alright," Anne nodded her agreement and turned in step beside him as they made their way out of the ballroom. After dancing several times with Arthur Richardson, she'd finally managed to turn the conversation around to the Blythes and Anne wasn't about to argue the location of the discussion.

Stepping outside, the pair strolled around the wide verandah that circled the perimeter of the White Sands Hotel. It was dark outside but light shone out the windows from the party inside, casting a luminescent glow onto the verandah. They passed several other couples, also out for a stroll, until they came to a secluded spot suitable for a private conversation.

Anne turned to Arthur. "Now about the Blythes...," she began.

"Oh come, come, Miss Shirley," Arthur interrupted her. "We needn't waste our time discussing them."

"What?" Anne asked in surprise. Whatever did he mean? That's why they'd come out here. That's why she'd come to the ball with him in the first place!

"Look, you want me to put in a good word for the Blythes about their loan. I understand that. I'll help you out, and you can help me," Arthur explained the heretofore-unknown deal.

"Whatever are you talking about?" Anne gaped at him.

Arthur chuckled. These country girls were all so naive. He reached for Anne's hand, clasping it in his grasp. Anne tried to pull it back but found she could not.

"Mr. Richardson...," she began.

"Arthur," he cut in with the correction, bringing his other hand to the side of her waist. The touch was no different from what he'd done inside when they were dancing but Anne grew alarmed at the unwanted familiarity and tried to pull away.

"No need to play coy with me, Anne," Arthur remonstrated, drawing her into his arms. Anne began to struggle in earnest. This is NOT what she had intended to happen in the course of this evening.

"Let me go!" she demanded, twisting and turning against the unwanted touch in equal parts anger and fear.

"Now one little kiss won't hurt anything, will it?" Arthur asked, tightening his arms around Anne's back and drawing her closer. He lowered his head but Anne turned her head from side-to-side, evading him as she brought her palms up against his shoulders and braced her arms, trying to push him away.

"LET ME GO!" she fairly screamed at him, mustering all her outrage as she fought him off.

Suddenly Anne found herself free of her captor, Arthur Richardson unceremoniously pulled off of her. Anne caught a brief glimpse of a second man, and an uninhibited "Gil!" was torn for her lips before there was a flurry of motion and Arthur Richardson went sailing several yards across the verandah, his back hitting a post before he fell to the ground. Anne crossed her hands over her mouth both in shock at the scene and to keep from crying out. With wide eyes in horror her gaze travelled from Gilbert, standing not far from her, his body rigid with tension and his hands fisted at his sides, across the way to Arthur Richardson. The two men were eyeing each other warily. Slowly Arthur rose to his feet, brushing his hand across the corner of his mouth where a small trickle of blood was pooling. He looked from Gilbert to Anne and back again, sizing up the situation, a sneer of enlightenment coming to his face.

"Oh it all makes sense now," he said sarcastically. "You didn't tell me one of the Blythes was your _boyfriend_, Miss Shirley. I think it's obvious that our _business _here has concluded," he announced, brushing a hand down each arm and straightening his tie before delivering a haughty glance Gilbert's way and turning from the scene, leaving Anne and Gilbert by themselves. Arthur Richardson may be a cad, but he was no fool. And he'd be a fool to fight a man both taller than himself and physically stronger. No, one punch had been enough to gauge his opponent's strength. No doubt it was all that farm work the local men did that built up their strength, Arthur rolled his eyes as he made his way inside.

Alone by themselves, Gilbert turned to Anne. "Anne, are you alright?" he asked, concern in his voice. He'd been on his way home earlier when he'd decided to take a walk instead and clear his head. After a few turns around the property he'd come up to the quiet verandah corner only to find Anne fighting off the advances of her overzealous escort. After that his protective instincts had taken over.

"Oh Gilbert, what have you done?" Anne wailed instead.

Gilbert's eyes narrowed on Anne. What had HE done? What was SHE doing out in the moonlight with a man she'd known less that two weeks? And what about her escort's parting comments, what was that all about? "What did he mean your business is concluded?" Gilbert demanded to know.

Anne drew a deep breath and ground out the answer. "He meant...you're not getting the loan."

"What!" What in tarnation did that mean? It made absolutely no sense in the context of the situation.

"The loan. The mortgage. Your father isn't getting it," Anne ground out between clenched teeth. There was no chance now, not after Gilbert had punched the bank manager and ruined it all. No, she corrected herself, not after SHE had ruined it all by even trying to help. This was all her fault.

Gilbert Blythe was silent for a moment, taking in Anne's comments, slowly piecing the bits of information together. "And just what do you know about my father's mortgage?" he asked suspiciously.

Anne raised her chin defiantly and glared at him. "What everyone knows, Gil. That your father needs to mortgage the farm and if he doesn't get the loan you're going to give him your medical school money and that would mean you can't go back to school. Isn't that right?" Anne asked challengingly, confrontationally.

Gilbert's eyes narrowed on her. "That's only partly right," he corrected her. "I've already given my father my money so he won't be applying for another loan."

"Oh." Anne blinked, deflated. She hadn't known that. That meant...that meant all her efforts had been futile anyway.

"And I'll be going back to school," Gilbert continued. "Maybe not this semester but after Christmas. I've already put in for a scholarship, but even if I don't get it I'll find some way to go. Do you even doubt my determination to get what I want?" he asked, equally challengingly.

Anne swallowed hard. So he would only miss one semester? She hadn't known that either. For some reason she'd assumed Gilbert's whole medical career was on the line.

"So what were you trying to do anyway?" Gilbert asked, his suspicions aroused. "Get on his good side so he'd give my family a loan?" he surmised, waiving his hand in the direction Arthur Richardson had left them.

"I was just trying to help you!" Anne replied defensively.

"Help me?" Gilbert ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Trust me, that wasn't helping me!" Did she even have any clue to how much agony it had been for him to see her with someone else?

Suddenly Anne's anger boiled over. "Well, this would never have happened if you'd just told me yourself what was going on instead of making me find out about it elsewhere! I thought I was your friend, Gilbert Blythe. All summer long we've been together. You've listened to all my troubles and helped me time and time again. Why didn't you tell me when you needed help?" Anne asked, her anger partially replaced by the hurtful tone in her voice. Yes, maybe that was it more than anything else. She was hurt that Gilbert hadn't confided in her.

Gilbert was shaking his head. "I couldn't tell you about this...,"

"Why not? Friends help each other out, don't they?" Anne asked.

"This is different." Gilbert's eyes had darkened, something registering deeply in their depths.

"How?" Anne wanted to know.

Gilbert didn't reply. How could he? How could he have explained it to the woman he loved? He was working to become a doctor, yes, but also to earn a profession that would support his wife and children. It was something he had to do on his own, without help. And certainly without help from the woman he hoped would be that wife, and would bear his children. It was the unwritten code, part of the arsenal of a man's pride, and Gilbert was too honourable to breech its terms.

At Gilbert's silence, Anne snorted disdainfully. "I see. Well let's just forget about it, shall we?" she said, glaring angrily at him before moving to brush past him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To ask Diana and Fred to take me home," Anne ground out her intent.

"Anne, wait." Gilbert pulled on her arm, but Anne flinched at the touch and pulled herself forcefully away.

"Don't touch me!" she met his eyes to command angrily. How could she think straight when he touched her? His every touch jolted her senses in that peculiar way that they always did, and right now she needed to keep herself together.

Gilbert swallowed hard, masking his hurt. So she couldn't even bear him to touch her anymore? Was that it?

"Good night, Gilbert," Anne swept angrily past him, briskly turning a nearby corner.

With Anne now out of sight, Gilbert turned to the nearby wall, bringing his fist up against the bricks, striking a forceful blow of pain and frustration.


	19. Reconciliation

Chapter 19

Anne Shirley was miserable.

Not that you'd know it from the outside. Even though she'd often expressed her 'depths of despair' on the outside in the past-like when she'd accidentally dyed her hair green, oh how she'd cried that time-for some reason her current misery wasn't one she could express. It had been three days since the fight with Gilbert Blythe at the White Sands hotel and Anne was only growing more miserable as each day passed. Oh how she cursed her temper! It always got the best of her and now she was paying dearly for her outbursts that night, and the things she'd said to Gilbert.

Mixed in with her regret was hurt. It still hurt that Gilbert hadn't confided his school problems to her in all the time they'd spent together over the summer. He hadn't answered why when she'd asked him for a reason but it didn't take a genius to figure it out. As much as she had trusted him with her confidences and problems it was obvious HE didn't trust HER enough to do the same. That hurt more than anything else. How could they be friends if the friendship was one-sided like that?

They hadn't spoken since that Friday night and here it was Monday already. Even in church yesterday they hadn't spoken to each other, either before or after services. And why would he? Anne asked herself. Why would Gilbert stop to talk to her after the things she'd said to him? And Anne hadn't gone to him either because...well, because for all her life she'd been pretty good at the temper part but she'd never been any good at the apology part. She didn't know where to begin or how to approach him.

After services she'd slipped away from Marilla's side for a few moments and had gone to visit Matthew's grave. Oh how she missed him, missed the support and guidance of that kind loving man with the gentle soul. It had been two years already. Two years since he'd left them, Anne had reflected as she'd placed a few late-summer wildflowers at the base of his headstone. She'd smiled a little, remembering all the years back when she'd first come to Avonlea. It was Matthew really, Matthew who had extended her the first welcome. She remembered it so clearly. It was on the buggy ride back from Bright River station. She'd warned him then that she talked too much, that people were always complaining about it and she could make herself stop if she really put her mind to it. "Talk all you like. I don't mind," Matthew had replied. His answer had stunned her for a moment. It was the first time in Anne Shirley's life that someone had accepted her just as she was, and if Matthew Cuthbert had stolen a little piece of her heart that day what he'd given in return was far greater. For it was at that moment the little lost girl she'd been knew she'd found her way home.

But now nothing seemed right in her world anymore, Anne sighed heavily. She was almost glad it was Monday-washday. If she couldn't erase the unhappy thoughts about Gilbert from her mind at least she could busy her body with hard labour. And hard labour it was. Anne stood before the cookstove, stirring the boiling contents of a large cast iron pot with a wooden paddle. She was wearing her oldest dress, its faded print no longer distinguishable, an oversize apron with a large deep pocket at the front covering it all. No matter how many times she righted it, the apron strap on one side persisted in falling down, hanging in a limp loop off her shoulder. Anne's hair was pulled back, gathered in a single braid than ran down her head and back. Whisps of hair escaped from the braid, framing her heat-and-steam-flushed face in a fiery cloud.

"These whites are almost done, Marilla," Anne called in false cheerfulness over her shoulder, delivering a few final stirs to the batch of white clothing boiling in the pot. Anne had only to rinse them in cooler water, wring them out and then hang them on the washline to dry.

Marilla Cuthbert didn't reply to Anne's announcement as swept the kitchen floor but she eyed the back of Anne's form worriedly. Marilla sensed that Anne was troubled and was throwing herself into her work with almost TOO much energy. No one liked to do the wash THAT much. She knew it had something to do with Gilbert, that the pair was on the outs with each other. Marilla had known no good would come of Anne's attending the White Sands ball with Arthur Richardson. And when Anne and Gilbert hadn't spoken after church yesterday Marilla's fears were confirmed, but she didin't know how to help or even how to ask Anne about it. Oh, how she wished Matthew were still here. He'd always understood Anne better than she did; it had always been more of a struggle for her, something she'd learned by trial and error, and there had been a LOT of trials and errors. Maybe it's because they were so much alike, her and Anne. Both stubborn and proud. Those weren't traits that did either of them any good.

Marilla watched as Anne loaded up a wicker basket, filling it with wet clean clothing. The clothes heaped high in the basket and when Anne lifted it she almost disappeared behind its mass. "I'll just go hang these on the line," Anne said, again more cheerfully than any basket of wet laundry deserved, as she pushed open the back screen door to head outside.

Marilla sighed when the screen door bounced closed again after Anne's disappearance. Marilla swept her way out of the room and in a few minutes she reached the front of the house, taking her broom out onto the front verandah. She had only swept for a moment or two before she noticed a figure approaching, coming up the front laneway. As the figure drew nearer, Marilla's eyes widened in happy surprise.

"Gilbert Blythe!" Marilla exclaimed, stilling her broom as a wide smile crossed her weathered and time-lined face.

"Goodday, Miss Cuthbert," Gilbert replied with a nod, stopping a few yards from the bottom step of the verandah.

"Gilbert, how nice to see you! Won't you come inside?" Marilla was all effusive neighbourliness. This was positively providential. Now Gilbert and Anne would reconcile! Marilla fairly grinned at the prospect.

"No thank you, ma'am," Gilbert refused the invitation. "I'm just on my way down to the Barry orchard. I'm working there today. I just stopped by for a moment," he explained, his workday apparel corroborating his destination.

The smile was partially reduced on Marilla's face. "But you've come to see Anne, haven't you?" she asked, turning slightly towards to the front door. "She's just out back hanging the wash. I'll go get...,"

"No ma'am, please don't," Gilbert quickly interrupted, forestalling Marilla's actions. Gilbert was glad to have missed Anne today, that it was just him and Miss Cuthbert. He just didn't know if he could face Anne and bear it if she rejected him again. After Friday night he didn't know if she ever wanted to see him again. It sure seemed to him that she didn't and wouldn't. At Miss Cuthbert's blank look, Gilbert took a step or two up to the bottom step of the verandah, looking down as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small package. He looked up again and swallowed hard. "I was wondering...I was wondering if you would give this to Anne for me," he asked, holding out the package.

Marilla eyed the small brown-paper wrapped box. It was no more that five inches long and maybe three across. A folded note lay on top, secured by a piece of string crossed and wound around the entire circumference. "But...but...," Marilla hesitated, looking up from the box to meet Gilbert's eyes. "But wouldn't you like to give it to Anne yourself?" she asked hopefully.

Gilbert shook his head and didn't reply, only implored her with his eyes.

"Alright, Gilbert," Marilla acquiesced, then stepped to the edge of the top stair, taking the box that Gilbert held up towards her.

"Thank you, Miss Cuthbert. I appreciate that," Gilbert said, retreating back a few steps. "Goodday," he said, before turning and heading down the Green Gables front path.

Marilla Cuthbert stood on the top step of the Green Gables verandah and watched Gilbert Blythe as he retreated in the distance. Then she turned and made her way into the house.

-

It was a short while later when Anne Shirley re-entered the Green Gables kitchen. "Well, I got it all on the line, although I had to get a bit creative to squeeze it all in. We really should get Jerry Buote to string us another line," Anne babbled as she came in the door, lugging the empty basket.

Her back to Anne as she rolled out some pie dough, Marilla remarked casually, "Gilbert Blythe was here earlier. He stopped by for a moment on his way to the Barry orchard." Dead silence greeted her comment and Marilla smiled a little, sensing by the silence that Anne stood frozen behind her. Casually she continued on, "He left a package for you. It's on the parlour table." Marilla turned just in time to see Anne plunk the empty laundry basket on the table and bolt out of the room towards the parlour. It was all Marilla could do to keep from laughing out loud at Anne's eagerness. Maybe things would be alright after all, she thought, sending a silent prayer heavenward.

Anne Shirley almost skidded to a stop before the parlour table. She could hardly believe her ears when Marilla had said Gilbert had stopped by, that he'd left a package for her. Her wide eyes and pounding heart alluded to her shock, the same shock she now displayed staring down at the parlour table. On its surface lay a small box, a folded white note tied on top with her name written on it in Gilbert's bold strong handwriting. Anne reached for the box, hugging it close to her body for just a moment before she turned and sprinted up the stairs to her room. She closed her door and sat on the edge of her bed. With trembling fingers she tore off the string, freeing the note on top. Opening the letter, she read:

_Dear Anne,_

_I bought this a few weeks ago and I was saving it to give you as a Christmas present but I thought I'd give it to you now as a sort of peace offering. I'm sorry for what happened Friday night-you were right, friends DO help each other out and it was wrong of me not to tell you about my med school problems. I'm hoping you'll give me another chance and we can go back to being friends like always. Please say yes, if you don't I'll have to chum around with Moody and as you know he doesn't cook nearly as well as you..._

_Sincerely, your friend (I hope)_

_Gilbert_

Anne almost laughed out loud. Oh Gilbert! Funny, incorrigible Gilbert! Already she forgave him, that is, if he also forgave her...Anne had no illusions about her own culpabilities in their misunderstanding. But her heart was suddenly lighter and there was a smile on her face. Gilbert had given her a great gift just by being the first to initiate their reconciliation-something Anne found hard to do herself. The note was more than enough in itself, there was no need for a present too, Anne thought as she turned her attention to the small wrapped box. Carefully she tore off the paper and lifted off the lid, then peeled back the layer of gauzy paper inside to reveal Gilbert's present.

Anne blinked then froze at the sight before her, her breath catching in her throat. A small wooden figure lay inside the box staring back at her. It was intricately carved, its military coat painted a brilliant red with black buttons and gold epaulets. Its legs were painted black as well and along the side of one thigh ran a miniature sword. Its face was painted with an expression that befitted both the seriousness of a soldier and the playfulness of a child's toy. With great care Anne lifted the figure out of the box, cradling it in her palm. It was a Nutcracker. From the ballet. And it was beautiful. Even more beautiful than the one she had told Gilbert about. The one she'd seen in the store window all those years ago and had wanted for Christmas, but had never gotten because she was just an orphan, an invisible orphan, who didn't get Christmas presents.

Suddenly from deep down inside her, from a place she hadn't known even existed, Anne felt something well up and rise to the surface. She gulped for air once, twice, but it didn't help. The sobs wouldn't be derailed and they came full force, great wracking sobs that shook her back and shoulders. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. Anne bunched the folds of her apron and stuffed it before her mouth, muffling the noise, as she slid from the bed down onto the floor to sit with her knees drawn up tightly before her, her body turned sideways with her head resting against the side of her mattress. There was no stopping them now. The sobs. She couldn't have stopped them even if she'd tried. It was just that she hadn't known. She hadn't known about the little girl. She'd had happy Christmases with the Cuthberts, ones that more than compensated for the giftless ones all those years ago. But she hadn't known about the little invisible girl. Had she been inside her all this time? _Waiting?_ Waiting for someone to finally see her? Waiting all these _years?_ And finally, today, someone had. That invisible little orphan had finally gotten her Nutcracker and it was as if a small part of Anne's heart that she hadn't even known was missing was restored to her. She wasn't sobbing out of sadness but out of joy and gratitude.

It was a good long while later when Anne finally sniffled the last of her sobs. She took several deep steadying breaths and then wiped her tears away with the hem of her apron as she stood, lovingly tucking the toy soldier into her roomy apron pocket. She turned to the door, opened it and headed down the stairs.

"Marilla, I'm just going out for a bit," Anne called over the bannister, hurrying down the stairs and out the front door without waiting for a response. She probably looked a mess, first because of her washday wardrobe and hairstyle, and second from her crying jag, but she didn't care. She had to see him.

Hearing Anne's call from the kitchen Marilla smiled. She wondered what was taking Anne so long up in her room and she had contemplated checking on her but had decided not to.

The Barry orchard. That's where Marilla said Gil had gone today, Anne focussed her thoughts, turning around the side of the house towards the orchard at a brisk pace. The pace too slow for her emotions, Anne broke out into a run, hoisting her skirts out of her way as she tore down the path.

Up on a ladder picking apples, Gilbert Blythe turned his head when he heard his name being called. It was far off and it took a moment for him to focus his eyes through the foliage and discover the source. It was Anne! She was running towards him from over Green Gables way. Quickly Gilbert climbed down from the ladder and removed the bag of apples strung over his shoulder. His first thought was that something was wrong. Why else would Anne be running like that? There was nothing to spark such urgency except trouble. His heart racing at the possibilities, Gilbert ran to meet her.

"Anne, what's wrong?" he shouted, pulling up short a few yards in front of her.

But Anne didn't stop, she flew at him, throwing her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. Gilbert Blythe went rigid in shock and stopped breathing.

"I've come...to thank you...," Anne puffed in a breathless voice near his ear.

Thank him? Gilbert forced his mind to work. The present, he realized. The nutcracker. She was thanking him for the nutcracker. But...but...she was _hugging _him! Didn't she know? Didn't she know what that did to him? And he was sweaty and dirty from his work. Didn't she realize that?

"Anne...Anne please...," he pleaded. He put his hands on the round of her shoulders, trying to get her to stop. He'd given her the note and the present to restore their friendship, to get them back to where they'd been before the fight but how could he think of friendship when the woman he loved was hugging him, her soft body pressed up warm and intimate against his. It made him want to do things, things he had no right to do, like put his arms around her and hug her back and...and other things, things she wasn't ready for. He tried to make her stop. But Anne wouldn't be deterred. Her heart was too full with love...yes, _love_, for the man who had done so many things for her, the greatest of which she was only beginning to realize.

"Anne..._please_!" Gilbert begged.

But Anne had her own agenda. "Thank you, Gil...thank you for my present," Anne breathed to him, then stretched herself up along his length and turned to press a tender kiss to his jaw. Gilbert froze at the gesture, stunned beyond all scope or measurement.

Then suddenly Anne was gone, racing back to Green Gables the way she had come, her apron strap hanging down off one shoulder, her skirts flying up around her knees and her braid trailing wildly behind her.

His mouth agape with astonishment, Gilbert Blythe stared after her and stood rooted to the spot for a good long while.

* * *

I re-uploaded this chapter to fix some typos. Sorry for the Blythe/Barry Orchard confusion in the earlier upload. I actually realized the mistake just as my head was touching my pillow at 1am last night, so I didn't fix it then! There are still a few mistakes as this program tends to eat my punctuation on me in places, but overall it's better.

Thanks to everyone for all the story comments so far! There is only one more chapter to go and I'm both sad and excited for be finishing this story that has been in my head these past 2 months. Please leave me comments, I love to hear from readers.


	20. Another Proposal

Here it is, my last chapter of "A Little Romance : Anne and Gilbert". This chapter more than any other earns its **PG rating** and it is unashamedly 'mushy' and heavy on the romance. If you like that sort of thing then read on, if you don't then this is your forewarning.

Thanks to all you good folk who've been leaving me story comments throughout these past 2 months. I cannot write unless people are reading and commenting as I go since I can never summon up the discipline to write otherwise. So thank you to those who've left comments, without you this story would never have seen the light of day. I'm a little sad to be finishing up but excited too that it's done-at approximately 46,000 words it's the longest story I've ever written. Thanks again to everyone and I hope you enjoy the ending of my story.

Chapter 20

"And your homework assignments for the weekend are as follows...," Anne Shirley began in a serious foreboding tone as she strode up the aisle between the desks of the Avonlea schoolhouse with an open book in her hand, the expectant face of every student turned upwards and focussed on her. Anne paused in the center of the room, swinging around to survey her classroomful of students before breaking out into a smile. "Your homework assignment for the weekend is to go and have fun and return here Monday morning bright and early and ready to learn," she ended, pedestalling the book beneath one upturned hand and snapping it shut as the children broke out into a chorus of cheers over their reprieve. Anne grinned. "Class dismissed!" she shouted over the deafening din.

A mad scramble ensued as the children, ages 7 to 15, hastily gathered up their belongings and stampeded for the door. It's not that most of them didn't enjoy school but a beautiful Autumn weekend lay before them without the prospect of homework and the children almost fell over each other in their excitement. Anne Shirley watched indulgently as her classroom cleared on this Friday afternoon, a smile of satisfaction on her face. The new school term had started several weeks ago, and with it the rush of fulfilment she got from teaching. Weather-wise they were enjoying an usually warm late Autumn, an Indian summer, and in her heart Anne could not deny her students one last carefree weekend before the harsh winter weather curtailed their outdoor activities until spring.

The classroom efficiently emptied, Anne headed to her desk at the front of the room. She straightened some of the books and papers on its surface and then moved to the blackboard, erasing the day's lessons in broad sweeping strokes. She was dressed in a simple dark navy skirt that flaired slightly at the bottom, and a crisp white linen blouse tucked in tightly at her trim waist and with deep frill-edged cuffs circling snuggly around each wrist. A small watch broach was pinned on the left side of her chest. Her ruddy auburn hair was loosely pulled back into a smooth knot just above the nape of her neck, and altogether the effect was cool and capable, yet feminine too.

"Miss Shirley?"

Anne looked over her shoulder at the voice, spotting Hannah Hunt standing timidly at the threshold of the schoolhouse door. Anne smiled, placing the blackboard brush back on its ledge before turning, swiping her hands together to remove the chalk dust. "Mrs. Hunt! Please do come inside," she invited, taking a welcoming step or two in the woman's direction.

Hannah Hunt entered the schoolhouse and approached Anne Shirley, somewhat of a sheepish expression on her face. "Henry and I came to walk Lizzy home from school and I just thought I'd stop in to ask how Lizzy is doing," she explained as she drew nearer. "If she was getting along alright," she clarified, hoping she didn't come across as too meddlesome or over-protective.

Anne smiled. Little seven-year-old Lizzy Miller had started her first year of school and Anne was thrilled with the opportunity to teach the young girl and the opportunity to connect with the family Gilbert had worked so hard to unite. "Lizzy is doing very well, Mrs. Hunt," Anne replied reassuringly. "Her school work is progressing nicely and she's made quite a few friends," Anne informed her with a smile.

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it Miss Shirley," Hannah exhaled in relief. "I was a little worried about her, you know, with all the changes in her life," Hannah Hunt indirectly referred to the death of Lizzy's mother and Lizzy and her brother Henry's move into town under the guardianship of Hannah Hunt and her husband Silus. Hannah didn't have children of her own and she was not ashamed to admit that with the sudden care of two youngsters combined with her own inexperience it was easy to question herself and her capabilities. It was her dear wish to do right by the children and make their difficult life transition as easy as possible for them.

Sensing what Hannah Hunt really needed to hear, Anne dropped her voice a key, changing from a professional tone to a more informal one, and elaborated, "Whatever you're doing Mrs. Hunt, keep it up. Lizzy has adjusted superbly to her new home and environment and I'm sure Henry has too."

A small smile broke out on Hannah Hunt's face, like a sunrise when it just peeks over the horizon. "Thank you for saying so, Miss Shirley," she said, her kind eyes glowing with deep appreciation. "I won't keep you any longer. Good day to you," she said.

"Good day," Anne replied. "And please feel free to come and see me again. I'm always here if you want to talk about Lizzy, or...or anything," Anne amended, reaching out in friendship to the older woman.

Hannah Hunt smiled again, the corners of her eyes crinkling with pleasure. "Thank you, Miss Shirley. I just might do that," she said, cementing her acceptance, before she nodded her farewell and turned from the room.

Following Hannah Hunt to the door a moment later, Anne stepped out onto the front stoop of the schoolhouse and looked down onto the schoolyard below. Several children were milling about, playing afterschool games with each other.

"Lizzy! Henry!" Mrs. Hunt called from the center of the yard. Immediately Lizzy and Henry Miller broke from their game and ran to the woman, one on each side of her. Anne watched as Hannah smiled at the children and spoke to them a moment and then she saw each child reach a hand up to take one of Mrs. Hunt's hands. The trio set off on their way home and Anne watched Lizzy raise an animated face to the woman next to her, rapidly mouthing words that Anne suspected were a description of her schoolday as Mrs. Hunt looked down on the child's upturned face with an expression of love and tolerance. Anne watched the departing trio for a moment, her soft expression mirroring the tenderness she felt in her heart. She was so glad Lizzy and Henry had a home, a good home, with loving people to take care of them, and that they hadn't had to leave Avonlea for an orphanage. And then she thought of how it had all come about, of who had earned the lion's share of credit for the happy outcome and her heart softened even more as she thought of him, her face and eyes lost in dreaminess.

"Another school week come to an end, Miss Shirley?"

The teasing voice jolted Anne from her thoughts as she turned towards its source. Gilbert Blythe stood below her, just off to the side, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against the side of the schoolhouse building, grinning at her.

"Oh Gil, I didn't see you there!" Anne exclaimed lightly, blushing at the sight of him. It was a good thing he couldn't read her thoughts, Anne mused, for she'd just been thinking about him, remembrance of those warm and tender thoughts heightening the blush on her face. "I'll just go get my sweater," she said quickly, ducking back inside the schoolhouse to get the garment as well as to take a moment to compose herself a little. Gilbert usually walked her home from school, it had become their daily routine ever since semester had started. Their friendship had been reclaimed after Gilbert's peace offering, but for Anne there was now an added depth to their relationship as well. Gilbert's present had opened her eyes...to a lot of things, but in particular to what lay inside her own heart. But no words had been spoken between them and so Anne played at the imitation of friendship and the hiding of true feelings-unbeknownst to her she played at it as well as Gilbert did, only it was harder for Anne as she was less practised at it.

Anne stepped back out onto the stoop and swung her powder-blue sweater onto her shoulders, lacing an arm through each sleeve. Then she turned, pulling the schoolhouse door tightly closed behind her. Gilbert had moved to the bottom of the stoop stairs, a hand on the railing as he waited for her.

"You'll never guess what Harold Pye said in class today," Anne began in easy conversation as she used both hands to draw up the front of her skirts and began her descent down the stairs.

"What?" Gilbert obligingly enquired.

"It was very funny, he...ahhhhh!" Anne cried out in alarm as she lost her balance on the stairs and pitched forward. Suddenly a pair of strong arms reached out and encircled her, lifting her an inch or two off the stairs as they halted her fall. Anne swallowed hard and met Gilbert's eyes, his face just mere inches from her own. Gilbert returned her gaze and held her steady in his arms a second or two, and then he slowly lowered her safely to the ground.

"Your skirt got caught," Gilbert said, his arms still around her as he explained the fall.

"What?" Anne asked, blinking stupidly up at him. How could she think when Gilbert's arms were around her? When his touch was setting off jolts and fireworks inside her?

"Your skirt. It's caught," Gilbert repeated.

"Oh," Anne said. Then "oh!" when realization dawned and she pulled back out of Gilbert's arms, turning her head to see the hem of her skirt, wedged in a crack at the back of one of the steps. The step held her skirt up and away from her, exposing a good deal of Anne's legs below her knees. "Oh!" Anne exclaimed, her eyes widening in mortification at the unintended exhibition as she began yanking unsuccessfully on the fabric.

"Hold still," Gilbert commanded, as he bent to gently tug her hem at the spot it was wedged into the stair. Anne stilled her movements, her hands fisted into the folds of her skirt, waiting in patient humiliation for Gilbert to free her.

"There," Gilbert said when he'd accomplished the task, the fabric swinging back into its rightful place. Anne stood with her head bowed, two bright pink spotches of colour staining her cheeks. How is it she always got herself into these embarrassing predicaments? she wondered. And why was Gilbert always around to witness them?

Gilbert had been careful to avert his eyes from the unintentional display of Anne's legs when they'd been thus exposed but even so he sensed Anne's embarrassment over the incident. "Anne, it could have happend to anyone," he said, trying to ease her discomfort.

Anne peered up under her lashes at him and cocked a brow. "Anyone?" she asked, delivering a shake to the material of her skirt.

Gilbert smiled. "Well, any _woman_," he acknowledged the differences in their anatomical attire.

"No, things like this only happen to _me_," Anne corrected on a sigh, then she raised her head proudly and met his Gilbert's eyes boldly, as if to defy the very fates that heaped continual humiliation upon her. "I do thank you for your assistance, Mr. Blythe," she said with great formality and a haughty air, her pride once again rescuing her from an unfortunate comical incident.

Gilbert grinned back at Anne. Oh how much he loved her! Her and her contradictions. She was embarrassed over the silly incident but she was too proud to let herself be embarrassed. "You're welcome, Miss Shirley," Gilbert rejoined with equal formality. "Now do tell me about Harold Pye's comments today in class," he suggested, smoothly diverting the conversation back on track. "And why don't you have any books to carry home?" he asked, since it was his primary job to carry her books for her and today she bore him none.

Anne laughed. "I gave the children the weekend off without homework and I decided their teacher deserved the same!" she informed him in a conspiratorial voice. "And as for Harold Pye...," Anne laughed as she began her story again, falling into an easy step beside Gilbert as they made their way towards Green Gables.

After a long while the conversation dimmed and the pair strolled leisurely towards their destination in silence, just enjoying the late afternoon Autumn day, perhaps one of the last fine days of the season. Anne couldn't help but remember that soon it would be Autumn in earnest, the leaves were already turning bright oranges and reds, and soon they would tumble to the ground, leaving the trees barren and cold. Then the snow would come, and soon after that it would be Christmas, and then Gil would leave. He would go back to medical school when term started in the new year. Anne grew melancholy at the idea. She knew it was Gilbert's dearest dream and for that she was happy but oh, how she would miss him! And not just because she'd grown accustomed to having him around. No, it had taken a long time but Anne could finally admit the truth to herself. She would miss him...because she loved him. Ever since the day he'd given her the nutcracker. No, that wasn't true. That was only the day she realized she loved him. How much sooner it was when she fell in love with him she didn't know, it had come on so gradually. But she didn't know what to do with her newfound knowledge. She'd refused Gilbert's proposal in the spring-was it almost six months ago already-and he had never mentioned it again, neither of them had. Anne didn't know what she was supposed to do, or even if there was any hope. Gilbert would go away and he would meet other people, other _girls_, and he would forget the girl from Avonlea who'd been his chum this past sweet summer. Anne's heart ached at the mere possibility, and she grew even more introspective and quiet.

The pair continued their trek home, the shadows growing longer as the day grew older. Suddenly Anne became aware they were approaching 'the spot'-the unavoidable place along the tree-lined lane to Green Gables where Gilbert had proposed to her all those months ago. It really was a beautiful little spot, sheltered and secluded, the meandering trail weaving in and around large maple trees. In the past when they'd come upon the spot together Anne had always sped up, hurrying past the location with all its attendant memories. But today she didn't. Today Anne found herself slowing down as she grew closer, until she finally stopped altogether.

It took Gilbert a few more steps to realize Anne had stopped walking. He turned back her way with a questioning look on his face.

"Anne?"

Anne turned scarlet, her eyes downcast. What was she doing anyway? She'd acted on impulse, that's what, and now Gilbert wanted to know what she was doing. Well, it would be better wouldn't it? It would be better to know if there was any hope than to not know, wouldn't it? Bravely Anne raised her head and met Gilbert's eyes.

"This is 'the spot' Gilbert," she said by way of explanation.

"The spot?" Gilbert repeated.

"The spot where you proposed to me." There. She'd said it. Something that had been unspoken between them for a long time.

"I know it's the spot, Anne," Gilbert replied quietly, wondering what all this was about.

"I was...I was...," Anne hesitated, stammering over the words but then pushed on. "I was very confused that day, Gilbert," she explained in a rush. "Your proposal, it frightened me. I didn't want anything to change."

"Anne, I know that," Gilbert's voice was gentle, understanding, as he stood before her. If she thought to explain her refusal to him now he could spare her the difficulty. He had learned so much about Anne over the summer. He had learned about her difficult early years and that her childhood had only began when she came to Avonlea and that she was in no hurry to change anything about her life as it was right now. He understood that and he could spare her trying to explain it to him. "Anne, you don't need to explain...," he began.

"I would give a different answer now," Anne interrupted.

"What?" Gilbert blinked, startled.

"I would give a different answer now," Anne repeated breathlessly, her heart slamming wildly against her ribs at her own gumption. She couldn't very well propose to Gilbert, such things just were not done. So she did what she could, and that was to let him know another proposal would not be unwelcome, that although she'd been confused that day last spring she wasn't confused anymore. For all intents and purposes it was a proposal and Anne waited with baited breath for Gilbert's response.

Gilbert experienced a moment of shock. Of all the things Anne could have said to him this was something he had not expected. Once over his initial shock, Gilbert's eyes softened tenderly on Anne. How sweet and vulnerable she looked standing there just now. But he knew her better than she did herself, or so he thought, and even though part of his heart rejoiced at her words in his mind he thought it was too soon. "Come along Anne, I'll take you home," he spoke the words with great gentleness and turned slightly away to resume their walk.

So, he was refusing her, Anne thought in desolation. A proposal and a refusal. Was this all just a repeat of that miserable spring day six months ago? she wondered. "Have I ruined it all then, Gilbert?" Anne asked tortuously. She'd messed everything up. First by refusing him all those months ago and now for trying to revive what Gilbert obviously had no wish to revive.

At Anne's question Gilbert stopped in his tracks and turned back to her. "No Anne," he told her in that same gentle voice. "You haven't ruined anything. But you need time. You're not ready," he said carefully, trying to explain.

Ready? Anne's brow knotted at the word. Not ready...to love? Was there a timetable for such a thing? she wondered, unaware that if she'd asked, Gilbert might have told her yes there was...three years. That was his plan. To wait three years for her. To give her plenty of time to finish up her childhood years, so to speak. Until the time when he thought she'd be ready for him.

At Anne's puzzled look, Gilbert continued. "The things that happened in your childhood, before you came to Avonlea. You need time to sort them out. You need time to...," he started, but Anne was already shaking her head and again she interrupted him.

"But Gilbert, you helped me so much already with those things! Don't you know that?" she asked, incredulous and eager. Didn't he know how much he'd helped? What he'd done for Lizzy and Henry, his coming to her in the storm, his gift of the nutcracker, his patience to listen to her childhood stories...all of these things had already helped, had already helped to heal those old wounds.

Gilbert smiled tenderly down on Anne's eager face. "Then I'm glad of it, Anne," he said, and he was. Glad that she'd been able to deal with the troubles in her heart but that didn't mean she was ready for the ones in _his_, that she was ready for _him_.

Seeing that her protestations had not swayed him, Anne asked, "But why, Gil?" trying to understand his refusal. Unless...unless it was because he didn't love her. But he must have loved her once-enough to propose to her. Was there nothing left of that love?

Gilbert rubbed his forehead, trying to think of a way to explain it. How could he enter an engagement with the woman he loved and yet continue on as they were? Continue on as Anne undoubtedly would expect them to. She didn't know any differently. She didn't know about the deep desires within his own heart. It had been hard enough restraining himself when he'd been her friend, how could he hope to do it as her _betrothed_? He remembered that day in the barn after the storm. He'd almost kissed her then. It had been so difficult to pull back, and there had been no engagement between them then. If he'd been engaged to her he probably would have kissed her and he doubted she was ready for that. Besides, he had his plan. His three-year plan. He only had to explain it to her so she would understand. "I told you once I was a passionate man, Anne," he began, his voice low as he gazed at her intently, hoping his words would register some meaning for her.

Anne remembered the conversation that day in the schoolhouse. He'd said they were alike, both passionate, she because of her temper and he because of...well, because of whatever it was he was passionate about. Anne didn't understand the connection to their current conversation. If he didn't love her she wished he would just say so, not couch his response with answers she didn't understand. "And what does that have to do with any of this?" she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

"It has everything to do with this!" Gilbert ground out, growing frustrated himself. At Anne's blank look, he blurted out his confession, "It's you, Anne! _You're my passion_!" Some measure of control that had long been held in check broke inside Gilbert and he reached his two hands out to the sides of Anne's waist and pulled her to him. Anne's eyes were wide in surprise, startled by both his announcement and by the sudden physical contact, but Gilbert didn't pause. In one smooth motion he lowered his head and captured Anne's lips with his. At the back of his mind was the rationale that he only meant to show her. If she would not understand, then he would show her his meaning. But once his mouth touched her soft lips, his rationale was lost and so was he.

At first Anne was merely startled. Startled that Gilbert had pulled her close to him like that, that he was kissing her, his mouth firmly fixed on her own as he pressed her spine back. She caught the material of his shirt into her fists, more as a means to steady herself than anything else. But it wasn't long before startlement gave way to other sensations. Where Gilbert's touch had always set off jolts inside her, his kiss was something different. Anne felt a warmth slowly spread throughout her body, radiating from her core out to every finger, every toe. It was like liquid fire, like molten lava in her veins, and she was melting under its heat, her limbs going pliant and languid. All thoughts were soon driven from her mind and she knew and felt only this, only Gilbert. Gilbert raised his head and Anne, her eyes still closed and her face upturned to his, exhaled a breathless "Gil" but Gilbert only tilted his head the other way and brought his lips once again to hers in an even deeper kiss. He brought his hands up from Anne's waist and encircled her back, pulling her tightly to him as his mouth slanted across hers. Anne unfisted her hands from the folds of Gilbert's shirt and opened her palms against his chest. Of their own accord her hands began to travel upwards, to some unknown destination...maybe, maybe to go around his neck...but they only got halfway there when Anne suddenly found herself turned loose. She stumbled backwards at the suddenness of it, her back meeting a wide tree trunk, which gave her fortuitous support since her legs didn't seem to want to hold her up anymore. The kiss had left her breathless and undone. Gilbert had turned his back to her, his legs braced apart. He had one hand on his hip and the other he ran shakily through his hair. The quick rise and fall of his shoulders from the great gulps of air he took indicated he too was left undone by their kiss.

"Anne...Anne, I'm sorry," Gilbert choked out the apology, his back to Anne. "I had no right...," he rebuked himself. What had he just done? He'd lost control, that's what. "Anne, I'm sorry," he said again, as he waited for the recriminations he so richly deserved. At the continued silence behind him, Gilbert pleaded, "Anne, say something!" Even her recriminations would be better than the silence.

But as she leaned with her back against the tree, her hands griping the rough bark on either side of her as she held herself up over knees that had suddenly turned to jelly, Anne was thinking thoughts other than recriminations. So this is what Gilbert meant by his passions, she realized. Her mind worked the information, navigating the sudden new territory of their relationship and what moving beyond friendship would mean.

"Would you...," Anne hesitated over the question, then boldly pushed on, "Would you want to do that very often?" she asked, referring to the kiss as she did some fact-finding research for this sudden new development.

Gilbert's jaw dropped and he turned to look at Anne, stunned by her question. What did she mean by asking such a thing? Where were the recriminations for his ungentlemanly behaviour? And why was she standing so awkwardly against that tree?

Anne met Gilbert's eyes. "Would you want to do that very often?" she repeated.

Gilbert drew a deep breath. She had asked a question, he would tell her the answer. "Yes, Anne," he said, his voice dark and thick. "Very often, I'm afraid." There. The truth. She could no longer be in any doubt about the long-denied desires within his heart.

Anne dropped her eyes from his. "Well, Gilbert," she began, churning his answer over in her mind. "Well, I suppose that would be alright," she said, amenable to the new terms.

Gilbert gaped at her, stunned by the turn of events, feeling a flicker of hope kindled inside him. He had not expected this. But now his mind and heart lept at the possibility. "Anne, come away from the tree," he implored. How could he talk to her properly when she was splayed so awkwardly there?

"I can't Gilbert. My legs don't seem to want to hold me up," Anne confessed.

Gilbert studied her a moment. It was true. Anne was reclined back against the tree, using her hands on each side to support herself. Gilbert's brow wrinkled as he considered the matter, a distant possibility coming to him. "Did I...did I do that?" he asked, incredulous.

Anne met his eyes and delivered a slow nod.

Immediately Gilbert took a few lengthy strides and stood before her, a grin of sheer delight on his face as he stared down at her and placed his hands on either side of her waist, offering his own support in addition to the tree's. Anne moved one hand from the bark and laid it along his arm, feeling him jolt underneath her touch. Ah, so she wasn't the only one who felt those peculiar jolts-he felt them too.

"Gilbert, what is this thing between us?" she asked in wonderment, staring at her hand on his arm.

"I don't know Anne. I've never felt it with anyone but you," Gilbert replied in a low, husky voice.

Their eyes met, and then Gilbert's gaze travelled to Anne's mouth. Slowly his head came down and he lightly brushed her lips with his own. Anne dropped her head back against the tree as they kissed. How different this kiss was from the other one. It was featherlight, just the merest of touches, so gentle and tender, but it shook Anne just as deeply as the one before, maybe more. Gilbert raised his head just a smidge to tilt it the other way, and then he kissed her again, just as softly, just as tenderly, his lips skimming lightly over hers. Anne pushed herself away from the tree, deciding she'd rather lean into Gilbert than into a tree. Gilbert immediately drew his arms in tightly behind her waist and pulled her close, providing more than enough support for her wobbly knees. Anne tried again and this time her arms made their way up around his neck. Gilbert's lips left hers and he trailed kisses along her face, stopping when he reached her ear. And then he just held her, his face nuzzled to the side of hers, and Anne marvelled that she felt so safe and warm and loved. Not knowing what exactly to do, Anne imitated what Gilbert had done and she turned her head to press small quick kisses along the slightly-coarse surface of his jaw. Gilbert made a small sound, like a moan, and he turned his head to capture her lips, stilling her quick kisses with a long, slow leisurely one of his own, raising his head after a moment to tilt the kiss in the other direction. When the kiss was over, Anne slumped against him, curling her shoulders into him as she turned her head sideways against his chest, her head resting just below the hollow of his neck. It was a moment after that that she suddenly blinked in awareness. For all their recent physical displays of affection nothing had been determined yet, nothing had been settled, she realized.

"Gilbert," she began. "Are we...are we, you know, engaged?" she asked hesitantly, feeling the rumble of his laughter before she heard it. Startled, she turned her head to look up at him.

"Anne Shirley, any girl I've spent the past ten minutes kissing...well, let's just say we'd _better_ be engaged!" Gilbert grinned down at her.

"Oh!" Anne smiled. It wasn't exactly poetry or a very romantic way of confirming their engagement but Anne was inordinately pleased nonetheless, not only that the matter was settled, but that Gilbert's answer meant he hadn't been kissing any other girls either.

Gilbert stared down on the smile on Anne's face and something tugged in his heart. The words. Anne had always loved the words. He was no poet, and he didn't have any flowery words to offer her, only what was in his heart.

"Anne, I love you," he said, his voice sincere.

"I love you too, Gil," Anne whispered back to him.

"Anne, it'll be three years before I graduate from medical school. Even then there won't be any diamond sunbursts or marble halls," he cautioned.

"I don't want sunbursts or marble halls. I just want _you_." At Gilbert's smile Anne stretched up and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. When she pulled back she had a mischievous smile on her face.

"Are you sure you want me, Gil? I have some faults you know," she informed him teasingly.

"Oh?" Gilbert raised a brow in mock skepticism.

"I have an unlucky history with water," Anne said, reminding him of all the times he'd had to rescue her from ponds, mud creeks, thunderstorms. Gilbert threw back his head and laughed.

"I think I can manage that okay," he reassured her.

"And I always seem to lose my hats. I can never keep one more than a couple of weeks."

Gilbert smiled tolerantly. "When I become a doctor I'll buy you all the hats you want."

"And my hair. It's red you know," Anne relayed that bit of news with eyes wide in mock horror.

Gilbert laughed. Like he hadn't noticed that. Then he grew serious. "Your hair is beautiful," he told her on a delicious whisper that sent shocks up and down her spine.

"And I talk too much. People are always telling me that," Anne warned him with a teasing smile.

Gilbert smiled down at her. "Talk all you like. I don't mind."

Suddenly the teasing smile vanished from Anne's face and she inhaled sharply at Gilbert's words, her gaze momentarily frozen on his face as she remembered those words from another day, a day many years ago. Anne's face crumpled at the memory and she burst into tears, burying her face in Gilbert's chest.

"Anne! Anne! What did I say?" Gilbert implored in alarm, confused by the sudden turn of events. Not knowing what he had done wrong, only that for some strange unfathomable reason he had made her cry, he pleaded an apology. "Anne, I'm sorry!"

Anne shook her head into his chest. How could she tell him? About the words he'd said. 'Talk all you like. I don't mind'. Anne thought about the only other person to say those words to her, exactly those words. Matthew. All those years ago. It had been her homecoming then. The first time in her life she'd been accepted for herself, just as she was. Was that what this was too? A homecoming? A homecoming with Gilbert? Suddenly it felt very much like that, like maybe even Matthew had had a hand in it, like he was sending her his blessing. She would tell Gilbert about it someday, Anne decided. Not now, but someday. For now she sniffled her tears and tried to compose herself. "I'm alright, Gilbert," she said, allaying his worries as she grabbed a bunch of material from his shirt and began wiping her tears, while Gilbert stared down at the action and blinked. Was she drying her tears on his shirt? "Oh, I'm sorry," Anne apologized, just then realizing her actions as she let go and tried to smooth out the wrinkles she'd made. Gilbert smiled tenderly down at her; he hadn't minded her small gesture of intimacy at all, in fact quite the opposite.

"I'm a sentimental old fool _and_ I talk too much," Anne told him, drawing a steadying breath and then looking up at him to show him her regained composure.

Gilbert brushed the pad of a thumb under each of Anne's eyes, wiping away the remaining tears. "I don't think you're a sentimental old fool. I think you're a caring, loving person with a good heart. And I'm not worried about you talking too much."

"You're not?"

"No, because I have something no one else has," Gilbert replied smugly.

"Oh? What's that?" Anne eyed him warily.

Gilbert lowered his head and dropped his voice low to breathe the answer to her on a whisper. "I have a way to shut you up." Then he proceeded to do just that, covering her mouth with his own.

Oh yes, Anne thought, there was no way she could talk when he was kissing her. But then, why would she want to? When after a moment Gilbert raised his head a smidge, Anne waited, her eyes closed and her face upturned, for what she knew would come. A brief second later her intuition proved itself accurate and Gilbert's lips settled back on hers. Anne smiled beneath his kiss. He'd tilted his head the other way again, like he did every time he'd kissed her. A handful of kisses and already she knew him, Anne thought, revelling in the familiarity of his kiss. And then she didn't think anymore, only felt.

Anne and Gil stood along the path to Green Gables for quite a while, their hearts pressed close together as they kissed, and talked, and hugged, and held on to each other.

Two hearts pressed close together. Where they belonged.

The End.


End file.
